New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[Speyland]

Susan Park

Susan has written a constitution that every citizen in the tribe must follow:

1. Murder will result in execution (or capital punishment).
2. Infidelity will result in a fine and five years in prison.
3. Every person from the lower class has the right to employ in a job that gets paid better than the ones from the upper class.
4. Freedom of speech is restricted and will result in a fine or execution if it is serious.
5. Owning a weapon is a privilege that the upper class will have while the lower class will not have that privilege meaning that they will be put in prison for ten years or if worse, executed.

"I hope this works," Susan said as she went outside to get some fresh air upon finishing writing the constitution that she has been working on this entire month.

[Cainesland]

Couple months jump, outline of events.

March, 2980

Bostwick shared the new suits with his family. He received a few blank stares, and some light criticism or push back about it being a bit different of a design from normal. Judging by that reaction he started wearing the hat around and judged reactions before wearing the full suit. As he kept wearing the hat the reactions seemed to calm down a bit and it became Bostwicks look.

The next week, Bostwick celebrated his daughter Victoria’s 13th birthday. She was officially a teenager. He celebrated with a gathering of the town of Mountains Cove, with family and friends. People brought gifts and she received a bunch of attention.

The next convention coming up would be the Farmers Convention. He wore the flat cap to the convention and received mostly compliments. During the board meeting the organization agreed that as an action item they would collect and place in reserve 20% of the grain through their patronage system in the upcoming harvest season in case of a drought next year. They agreed to start the construction of new cold cellars and granaries to hold the grain, and made an action item to contact the carpenters, metalworkers, and bricklayers for their help. It was confirmed by the board following discussion that the farmers should be able to gain access to their crops the following year should there be no drought. The idea being that it wasn’t meant to hurt their members, rather it was meant to provide a reserve just in case. In order to better facilitate this latter point an action item was provided that the farmers association should find and provide items to represent the grain taken for storage that is hard to counterfeit and can be found in sufficient quantity to provide to its members. A committee would be formed to investigate potential options to this issue.

There was some concerns towards implementing the 20% reserve, so to gain the vote two amendments were implemented.

1. This would be a two year trial period, to test its effectiveness.
2. If the farmers associations members found that they were lacking food during the trial period as a result of the 20% reduction beyond their regular association patronage payments they would be able to gain access to their food and withdraw it on an as needed basis.

With these amendments made to the legislation, the board agreed that a special session should take place in the third week of August to allow time for the associations members to hear about this trial policy and allow time for them to provide feedback regarding the policy. This feedback would hopefully be gathered and provided to the board in August ahead of the harvest to confirm if 20% is thought to be reasonable by its members or if it is thought to be more ambitious than necessary given individual circumstances. They can use that info to adjust or maintain the current 20% amount that has been proposed.

That meeting was Bostwicks retiring night with the farmers association. His assistant was confirmed as his assistant. After that he started wearing the rest of the suit around. It seemed to work out well but received more attention.

With the relative success of the state creation conference in securing some unity, and his relationship with the chief and the council of advisors, Bostwick was approached by the chief to think about serving as his education advisor. He could let him know by next month what his decision is, and find a recommended replacement if the answer was yes.

April

Bostwick traveled to Nestos during the first week to check on the progress of the Weavers Association. It was slowly coming along. He gave a few pointers and anecdotes, helping for a few days, before traveling back to Crimea. Here he learned as well about a possible convention happening in Sumer in June.

The following week he engaged with the land association. They decided upon new land routes to expand upon up from Dubrogea and North from Krasnodar Krai.

The Ranchers Association convention came two weeks after. They followed a similar path as the others, announcing aid towards the growth of new associations in their field within the same places. The Ranchers Association decides to put out a call for bids to become suppliers of salt and wood for smoking. Bostwick announced his retirement from the organization during this meeting. His assistant was confirmed as his replacement.

Bostwick confirmed to the chief and council that he would accept the position of education advisor. His former lawspeaker apprentice would take his place. While he would also have been qualified as an economic advisor that may have had more conflict of interest.

[UniversalCommons]

The Weavers Association from Crimea was welcomed into Nestos. A number of traditional women's group asked to join it. It was a tradition for women to gather together and do embroidery, sewing, weaving and nalbinding in workshops in the settlements. They had never had a larger association to join. It would be an organizational improvement.

There were some surprising innovations when they first visited Abdera and Oak in the Nestos League to set up shop. Many people were practicing nalbinding an early form of knitting. They learned that Scholar Bassaba had brought it back from Cucuteni lands where he had learned to make socks. There were patterns for hats, scarves, gloves, and blankets, even one for baby blankets.

Also there was a spoked spinning wheel which was used to make yarn allowing for much faster spinning of yarn and other fibers.

The flat caps were very popular, so were the woolen pants. Traders from up north had brought pants down from the Imperium and they were the new stylish thing to wear. The women's groups would trade for the plain flat caps and embroider them with patterns of waves and other natural themes.

The shirts and jackets were different. Only a few people wore them. It did not fit well with the traditional garb of cloak with peaked fox skin cap, long tunic, and boots. Often the more fashionable people could be seen wearing a hooded cloak, embroidered tunic, multicolored pants and socks, and a shoulder bag or pouch.

[Tallin]

Austin Tomlinson | Transcript #6 | 4 days PT

Surprisingly, I ended up maintaining my role as leader of this band of anger fuelled men. On our way, the others filled me in on their somewhat conflicting memories of what his major village looked like, which gave me an opportunity to make a general tactic on what to do.

Which makes today the day to execute.

As we started to approach I rebrief the men on the plan. “Now” I yelled from atop our little cart we brought to pool supplies “Remember, our goal is for this to never happen again, so If we just pillage, that will simply repeat this destructive cycle” the men still looked disappointed on not being able to fully avenge their brethren “We need to disable whatever army they have left and-” I thought of a better word “remove their leaders”. As it was a larger village I was excited about the possibility of finding news from any outside world. Before I daydreamed at all of what could possibly be out there I worked on positioning my men.

There was an ocean (for all intents and purposes) behind the town, and forest to its right, so I had a small contingent (group 1) stay in the open field and had the majority of our band stake in the forest (group 2), waiting for the signal.

Group 1 charged, banging their weapons together and yelling as loud as the could. Group 2 waited for a couple of seconds, watching for enemy troop movements, and as soon as they began firing on Group 1, Group 2 began a charge from the almost rear of the town, achieving complete surprise. We disarmed any men who were armed, and we killed all who refused to be disarmed. Then a group of men departed to create the only intended casualty of this battle. After the town seemed pacified we gathered the remaining citizens. Into the center for an announcement by me. “Do not worry” I stated a charismatically as a could to a group of people honestly fearing for their life “We mean you no harm, my men are ordered directly to not pillage or destroy any of your belongings” this seemed to no longer fear their lives, but they where far from trusting “We desire an end to these destructive tendencies amongst our people” the crowd looks at my men confused, but I continue before I lose them “Today is the founding of a great kingdom, with the goal of uniting the north, we will be united to protect ourselves from problems within, and without” I paused expecting utter confusion, but the town seemed surprisingly unsurprised. I really do need to figure out what is going on in the rest of the world assuming I’m not the only one sent back in time.

“Is anyone here a cartog- does anyone here make maps?” I asked one hand cautiously came up, a short man with a long beard. “You and someone who hunts...” another hand “you! Ok, meet me in the old chieftain’s room and bring one of your maps” I also gestured to one of my own men to follow as well. We where lucky the old chief was not there otherwise it would have been quite awkward as we gathered around a poorly crafted table. After having my man point out his village (modern-day Perth) and the cartographer point out this village (modern-day Edinburgh). I then worked with both my man and the hunter of this village to draw up the hunting grounds of each village.

After figuring this out I walked back out to the still gathered crowed and began my announcement "I do hereby proclaim the Kingdom of Scotland with its capital situated here, in the city now referred to as Edinburgh. The Kingdom of Scotland also has dominion over these men" I gesture to my army, who claimed faces of stoic acceptance due to me briefing them on my ambitions beforehand "of the city of Perth. We, as a government, also pledge to the goal of uniting all the tribes of the north to protect them from all threats, from within and without"

Now to the even harder task of governing.

*Image referred to above

[New Arcadius]

Gaukhar Erzanova

Chapter 13a - Unification of the Western Desert Part 1

New information has come to me from the various scouting and raiding parties we had on Egyptian villages:

The Egyptians are far more powerful than I previously thought they would be. At first, I initially thought they’d be a breeze, but it turns out that is not the case. I had severely underestimated their strength… After more scouting, their troops were extremely well armed, disciplined, and organized than what I called an army. It was absolutely embarrassing of what I was trying to relay to the Siwans about this. I shook my head in disbelief of my stupidity… in addition, some of my construction projects started to show some problems, as some of the workers began to find my works improbable or impossible to build with the lack of resources and manpower. It was almost as if I was becoming some sort of crazed despot. It’s very likely the sun is making me slowly go insane.

Whatever it was, I had to change my gameplan.

As I returned back to the Siwa Oasis, I had gathered a council around. The now aging Tuwa that I had met so long ago, sat down with her daughter, and the military planners that I had been with.

“After scouting out the Egyptian positions, I had determined it would be impossible to conduct a proper attack on them at this time.” I said.

“Really?” Tuwa asked. “What is it you propose to change then?”

“You mentioned that you often trade with other tribes, right? Well, I had formulated a plan that maybe, we can unite the great desert tribes together into one single group. Into a huge confederation, a large Nomadic Empire, you may say. These armies would come together in a huge group and would have the strength in numbers, training and all of this, to take on the Egyptians to the East. All these people, Isis spoke of, yours, the Qara, the Bahariyas, everyone, she shall call, the Berbers. United as one group, this Berber Empire, would take them by storm and surprise. When Egypt is at her weakest, we strike, and we carve our own name into their fertile Nile river, or as you call it, the Great Eastern Sea.”

“Hmm… This idea sounds quite grand, Gaukhar. You seem to have also mentioned travelling to the Great Sea to the North. If you get them into this empire as well, I might approve of this. It sounds quite insane, however. How long you’d expect this to happen?”

“Atleast 200 years, my lady-”

Spitting out her water, alongside some of the others, Tuwa gagged a bit.

“T-t-t-two hundred years?! That’s madness! You’ll be dead by then, I’ll be dead by then!”

I sighed. “You need to believe me. We can’t just unify everyone right now with such little manpower. We only have influence over two of the many Berbers around us. The rest are either distant or outside of our sphere all together. It will take a long time to do, but I need you to believe in me. If this doesn’t happen by your life time, that is fine. You may watch with Isis, as I build this mighty Empire for your people, and shall claim the riches of Egypt for ourselves, and fulfill my- our first goal.”

Tuwa glared at me. “You’re an insane woman, Gaukhar... So insane, this might actually work… sigh. Very well. Proceed on with your plan. But please, try not to die or anything. Isis smiles upon you regardless. You have done so much for us, so I can’t object it. How about the rest of you?”

The others agreed, and nodded with what the wisdom the Chieftess said.

“And given how she’s the prophet too! It’s an honor to hear her wise words.” expressed her daughter.

“Hmm… yes yes… Isis’ word spreads quickly in the desert. I am sure that many will likely follow your cause. But prepare to fight if you have to, for some love fighting as an honor code.”

I nodded as I left the hut, and begun preparations to unify the Berber people.

…

Proper planning came about when we left to go and embark on our campaign. If anything, we would begin to spend quite a large amount of time trying to locate these tribes. It’s really not easy without horses or something we could domesticate so we can use to go around and try to gain these tribes easier under our hands. The Northerners did bought Camels, and I hoped that others did had them as well.

Either or, We had travelled for months throughout the Western Desert, and would come into contact with different tribes, even some Oasises I never knew existed. Maybe they all dried up or something. Well either or, some greeted us with open arms, some responded with hostility, and we had a couple of fights on our hands. I did though, written a few things of meeting places for them. They

But I guess it will take far more time to gather everyone around. But time will soon come where it will all come together, where we will unify the Berbers and prepare for our attack.

[Speyland]

Susan Park

Susan has been thinking about invading other smaller tribes by using her army of 9,000. However, she fears a much larger clan that Shin has been talking about and she is uncertain if the rumor is true or not. Either way, she carried out the action.

Only 700 were killed with three tribes officially under control of the Ya tribe. She smiled upon hearing this as she was enjoying the breeze at the beachside of Korea.

[Cainesland]

May, 2980 BC

Bostwick spent the first week planning for his sons 14th birthday. Calvin was interested in sports, so Bostwick went out and found some horse racers and organized a race to take place on the afternoon of his sons birthday. On the day of, the family had breakfast together, followed by going out to go for a walk, they came back for lunch. Calvin went out to play flag football and capture the flag with some friends for the afternoon. When Calvin returned home home the family ate dinner. Then Calvin was given some birthday gifts before the family went to go watch the race. Other attendants of the race were their friends and family. Together they sat on a hill and watched.

During week two the water transportation association senior board came to Mountains cove for the convention. The senior board represented the water transportation across all of Lake Canada. As usual Bostwick moderated the meeting, trying to follow Roberts rules of Order as he remembered them after 20 years mixed with some preferences of the board members themselves. The board was different in that for their expansion. They looked at rumours of expanding trade in the south and west, while the north and east were not doing as well or were less developed.

It was determined that if the other associations were heading into the plains north of Dubrogea they should as well to hold onto influence in the region. An action item was put in place to expand and take over the river from their coastal holdings to to the mountains pass. This effectively meant the north of the river, as the south was held by Nestos. In order to make ports along the south they’d need to ask for permission from them rather than the chiefs of the tribes and the clans within those tribes along the river.

There was interest in going south of the Black Sea, but logistically it wasn’t feasible. Leaving the Black Sea at this time would mean stretching supply lines to far. At this stage they could only expand into 20 tribes per year without overdrawing supply lines. Following the development of the Weavers Association in Nestos the Water transportation association extended a request to establish ports on their east coast, as well as their pass into the sea beyond. If accepted, expanding into Nestos east coast this would take 6 tribes to accomplish. While they couldn’t go yet, they figured if it was accepted this could open up access to foreign ships coming to them.

Expansion wise, that covered 13 of the 20 tribes they could safely expand into that year. Analyzing their current trade routes, that took 6 regions into account. They had just decided to work towards expanding two of them. While there were concerns around the undeveloped status of the north, there was also interest in tapping into untapped markets. As such it was approved to mount an expedition to found ports in Kherson on the west coast and up the eastern side of the river. Hopefully this would provide information for future market research into the viability of the region as a potential expansion region in the future.

During week three, Bostwick worked on his role as education advisor for Mountains cove. As he thought about a curriculum he considered the circumstances and needs of its users. It was not particularly advanced by modern standards, but it was doing alright by local standards. He had gotten used to it over the past 20 years. First thing he would recommend is staying with the status quo with children aged 14 being recommended to begin a 5 year apprenticeship under an apprenticeship with an association. He wanted to move towards formal education, and there was some of that already, but people were busy doing their own thing to do that as a full time thing. He brought that forward to the council. That part was accepted, possibly because it wasn’t too far outside the norms from what currently happened.

Week four saw the lawspeakers meeting. Unlike the other associations, there weren’t many of them. There were around 9 Lawspeakers in all of Lake Canada. They were trained by Bostwick or by one of his apprentices. They had spread out to do tours of various areas. Two went to the east coast to mediate conflict among the tribes from (Krasnodar Krai) to (Georgia). Two went to the south to mediate conflicts along the southern coast. Two went to the west to mediate disputes there. Three remained up north, including Bostwick. Together they discussed issues that had come up, how they resolved them, and if improvements could be made to judgements. They also talked more informally around how their apprentices were doing, and how things were in the places they visited.

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Philip Andrada, late June to around July 3

The people of Lemsaoul had utterly slaughtered all who resisted in the following months, with the chaos that followed the death of that chief Samnos, it was child's play to defeat the divided chieftains in detail. It was also here where the extent at which the Akrotiri had subjugated the more peaceful tribes on the peninsula. Similar to how they were currently attacking them, divide and conquer. But rather than subjugate and oppress the Ashomatoi that were usually found surrounding the salt lake in the Akrotiri peninsula as well as slightly northward bordering the Trachoni and Koslossoi, Philip decided to proselytize them, and considering the fact that he had just liberated them from the Akrotiri, not to mention knowing their tongue somehow, there was fertile ground for missionary efforts, and persistent conversion attempts was something that he wanted to integrate into the mindset of an adherent, spreading your religion like a weed was always fun, for the others? Not so much, but who cares about them?

But there was compromise to be made if the faith- he really needed to call it something else, wanted to rapidly spread, and what better way to compromise than to absorb the beliefs of others, change up a few things to suit the narrative, and use the finished product to great extent? He decided to do a prayer of sorts after his first efforts, and whose location was most peculiar, as it was the middle of the somewhere between 10 and 11 kilometer salt lake. He stayed around for two days before returning with a hard look on his face. "I have had a revelation from the gods," he had said to those gathered upon the shore where he departed for the lake's center, "I saw a young tree being choked by weeds, and upon it were the names of Lemsaoul and Ashomatoi, then the gods told me of a different path, one that we must follow." He paused as he looked back at the lake. "They showed me the same tree, but instead of weeds choking it, it was watered with saltwater and blood, and as the weeds died the tree grew stronger," he looked back at the growing crowd, "I saw the tree overshadowing great mountains in the north, a great river in the south, woody coasts in the east, and a thousand islands in the west. I saw our names carved into the tree, separated not by where we came, but united in a single column of names."

He talked more as he went to the hut of the Ashomatoi chiefs, discussing with them the vision that he had seen in his prayer, "I think the gods desire for us to unite as one people," as he finished the hut exploded into a cacophony of noise, of those who disagreed and of those who did not, and after a moment, Philip raised his hand to grab their attention, "I think they do not want a union in which one is above the other, but of a union where both are equals. But the choice is for you to decide honored chiefs." This time the voices were much quieter, with mutterings of slight disagreement and 'maybe we could's being thrown around, and eventually the leader of the chiefs, an elderly man with failing eyes, as well as someone Philip had tentatively converted, raised his hand to quiet down whatever noise remained.

"Much of our land has been ravaged with the retreating Akrotiri, whom you have ravaged in turn on our behalf, and for this you have our thanks," he told Philip, who simply nodded, "And you have liberated us rather than becoming our new overlords, as well as assist us in healing our lands, and for nothing in return. For this our thanks turn into a debt." His eyes harden and he looks around the room. "And this is how we repay him? By throwing out his ideas of a union where both sides are equal, which does not infringe on our sacred beliefs, and whose early attempts of implementation brought not subjugation but paved the road to prosperity?" he turns around sharply to look at the other side of the room, "I remember some of you clearly in our first campaigns against the Akrotiri, I would've thanked you for allowing me to rise as high chief due to the deaths of many, then I remember, the deaths of many, on your hands, due to your arrogance."

"Shall we shall put it to a week of deliberation?" Asked a chieftain, and many others nodded with him, as well as the high chief. "Then it is settled," the nearly blind man told the leaders as he sat back on his chair, "Philip Andrada, we shall deliberate on your proposal for a week, and at the end of the week, if more than half agrees to it, we shall accept it, if not, well too bad." He coughed for a bit before straightening himself. "You are free to wander about the lands of the Ashomatoi, and you may continue your preaching of the faith." And Philip humbly nodded and left to resume his teachings in the land of the Ashomatoi and Akrotiri, and in doing so, sway more people over to his cause, which in turn would help him in swaying the chieftains over to his cause.

The week passed, and the day arrived.

Out of the 30 chieftains, 19 had said yes, 7 had abstained, and the remaining 4 had refused. The union with the Ashomatoi would be in short order, and to celebrate this momentous occasion, a "floating" shrine would be erected in the middle of the salt lake.

[Hanafuridake]

Grace Kinoshita

Hanamura
Talk of Treason
January, 2980

"She is mad."

"A complete tyrant."

"We are doomed."

A small crowd of courtiers in a locked room whispered among themselves, fans covering their mouths as they conversed as an added precaution in case anyone was listening into their conversation. "We have to convince Ruyanpe-ou to help us." the leader of the band, a small woman named Iyo, declared. "She has connections with the former tribes."

"She is completely loyal to her aunt though." another of the courtiers, Riruru replied. "She would have us executed."

"Not Ruyanpe, she is a kind girl." another stated firmly. "She will hear us out. We need not mention bloodshed, except as a last resort."

---

Toyooka
May, 2980

Was the palanquin ever going to reach its destination? I fanned myself with one of those fans that the courtiers loved to carry around among themselves thinking it made them look more beautiful and subtle. I had started to regret introducing them to the aristocrats, but I couldn't deny it was a blessing in a warm summer.

"Are we almost to the Toyooka palace?" I opened the window and asked one of the guards.

"We have a few miles to go, your majesty." he replied, hand clamped onto his knife in case of danger. I nodded and closed the window. Then I opened the window on the left side of the palanquin and beckoned to the guard captain. "The captain of the right flank is conspiring to kill me, seize him." the captain turned pale and nodded, seizing his weapon and ordering the other guards to take and bind the other captain. Fighting soon broke out between the various guards.

I wanted to see Ruyanpe more than ever. She seemed like she had been avoiding me the past few months, at first I shrugged it off as pointless worry, but now it had become increasingly clear that circumstances conspired against us or there was something she did not wish to tell me. When we reached there, I fully intended to find out.

[Cainesland]

Modern day Silistra, Dubrogea
Perspective of Noctus, a port supervisor.
May

Noctus looked around the river port. “Easy with that basket over there” he called out. It looked like a shipment of pike was coming from inland. Another shipment of fleece from (Georgia) was in a crate heading upriver soon. Noctus walked up to the basket and opened the lid. Inside were, judging by the height and width of the vose shaped wicker basket, about 10 pikes. He grabbed one out and inspected it, then another and another. Laying them out on a rock. No impurities were noticed, such as might be caused from decomposing.

A load of fish was worth about 60% that of a load of fleece. So 3 loads of fleece was worth 5 loads of fish. “Ok. We’ll take 10 loads of your fish.” He handed off 6 dagger handles to the merchant from up river. “Hand these off to the ship with the fleece. The captain will give you 6 loads of fleece.”

With accommodations in place Noctus turned to his co-workers. “Pike?” Noctus shouted. Another man came out from behind a wall of boxes. He was skinny with long hair and a big nose. “Yes boss”. “Get Carson, Qwill, Lina we need to get these baskets moved to outgoing. His co-worker went away.

[UniversalCommons]

Year 20 Month 2, House of Wisdom

Interlude Part 2

Victor Spear had finished looking through the new books.

He went over to a desk and asked, "Can you give me the Abdera ."

A young man in a blue robe said, "Yes sir, here it is. Just sign this card that you have it."

Victor Spear picked up the pencil and signed his name to the card and the young man gave him The Abdera Times.

Victor Spear sat down at the table. He looked at the single sheet broadsheet. He turned it over, it was now double sided an improvement. He Rubbed his finger on a corner and noticed that the papyrus was thicker.

He nodded to himself then sat down.

He looked at the Headlines, Abdera Invites Crimean Weavers Association, Kraken Menace driven from Santorini, Public Reading Rooms Opened in Oak and Abdera by Sitalkes, Raiders Seize Metals Near Uruk, Temple of the Great Bull and the Goddess Built in Santorini.

He went down to the short article on Sitalikes.

Public Reading Rooms Opened in Oak by Sitalkes.

Hand Sitalkes of Oak has opened two public reading rooms in Oak and Abdera.

Says Hand Sitalkes, "I wanted to be known for something more than just a warrior. My teachings in the Upright Way are not just about being physically strong, they are also about being frugal and morally upright. The texts in these reading rooms will be focused on teaching skills for the every day person as well as stories and legends on how to be a decent person. There will also be scheduled classes for basic literacy. I feel it is my moral duty to promote uprightness both physically and mentally in my people. May the Great Bull Bless You All."

The two reading rooms appear to be neat and clean with a good stock of codexes and scrolls. There is a teacher scholar in attendance at each room and they are open during the days and shortly into the evening hours.

Temple of the Great Bull and The Goddess Finished Being Built in Santorini

A new temple has been built in Santorini. Both the Goddess of Wisdom and the Cosmic Great Bull will be present in the temple. The temple houses a select set of Guardians from the Great Bull as well as Shield Maidens to protect the faithful from the Kraken Menace.

We have been inside of the temple. It is painted with the sun and moon on the ceiling. The inside has statues of the Great Bull and The Goddess. Miraculously the doors open when a fire is lit at the entrance of the temple.

There are regular services at the temple in the morning and the afternoon. The morning ceremony includes a special hymn led by a choir.

Each day the guardians lead the faithful in the search for the Kraken. They have recently been searching for signs of the return of the elder gods. There is an evening ceremony at the seashore where the bull tramples the Kraken on the shore.

Victor Spear rubbed his beard. The followers of the Great Bull had become more fanatical as of late. He had watched a week before as more of them came to Abdera to waiting boats where they would make pilgrimages to the temple. This was usually accompanied by shouting and singing on the docks. They would come down to the sea and sing, shout, and curse at the octopus, the sharks, and the squids.

[Nuxipal]

Javin Torrez
Summary of Year 2-17 of since Javin's Arrival

As promised fifteen years ago, Javin managed the town of Patna perfectly. Establishing the city watch, organizing labor forces, and most importantly codifying a series of laws which to this day have had very few changes made to them. The military victory over Arrah was a lasting one which after a decade turned into hegemonic domination over several nearby villages due to Patna's ability to project power. The town guard were paid in silver coin, which Javin was able to get instituted as a form of currency based on the weight of copper, silver, and gold. Patna's trade network stretched the whole of the Gangetic Plain, and was connected to the Indus River Civilizations through trade as well.

During the third and fourth years after Javin's arrival, he traveled west with Arayani, whom he married to cement an alliance with a nearby settlement, to that very settlement to aid them for some time. Soon they came to the town, which had been named Ballia. The lands were fertile and the town was growing, clearly they were learning from merchants which passed through Patna. Already, his arrival had altered the landscape, creating multiple small city-states. Javin and Arayani spent three years here improving the town and establishing a closer alliance with Patna. Soon, the time came for Javin to return to Patna. Upon his return, he noticed that the town had continued to grow and he would teach them about creating fishing piers on the river, similar to those he had experience with while living in Florida. It took them some time to understand, but after this, they found it easier to use boats as they no longer had to beach the boats to bring their goods ashore, instead tying up to the docks.

By 2985, the town had grown to a size that made Javin uncomfortable. Nearly 2500 people lived in Patna, and Javin had to go to the assembly and speak for the first time in awhile suggesting that they send out maybe five hundred or so people to found a new settlement to the north across the river somewhere to prevent the risk of famine or disease within the city. After a short discussion, they agreed and Javin led seventy families and hundreds of others north and west across the landscape to found the town of Chhapra. Javin only remained here for another year before returning to Patna.

The next four years passed slowly, as age caught up with many people Javin had previously met in the towns. His own wife, succumbed to illness in 2982 BCE along with a fifth of Patna's population at the time. However, as the first months of 2980 came to light, Patna was looking more and more like a successful capital city following the colonization down river and the incorporation of a few smaller towns and villages, including Ballia far to the west and Arrah a bit closer to them. With this, the towns directly ruled by Patna, with a population of five hundred or greater listed out, by population, as: Patna (1750), Ballia (750), Arrah (700), Chhapra (560), and Kamalpur (510). Other smaller villages south of Patna or around the larger towns were too numerous to accurately count, but Javin estimated there was nearly 15,000 people living under the rule of Patna's Assembly.

---

Javin Torrez
Town of Patna, Gangetic Plain, 17 Years Since Arrival, Winter 2980 BCE

Javin's home in Patna had been rebuilt a few years ago. He had taught them to build in stone and mud brick. Since then, the city had begun construction on a stone wall surrounding the current city boundaries with wooden gates already installed in three locations. Javin's home still played host to numerous families, the children which grew up there and some of their own children now too. Javin had been careful with his own wife, to ensure he did not do anything that could alter the gene pool of the region just yet. He now felt somewhat out of sorts, watching everyone grow old and die while he remained the same physical age. The first signs that he was in fact, not going to age at all while he lived here. Some of the others noticed it too and asked if he were a god. He declined this interpretation dozens of times whenever he left his home.

He pulled a scroll from the basket nearby and began to write. One of the best things he taught them was to create paper, or as close as he could get to paper, and a type of dye to use as ink. He had been able to use this to teach a few of them to read and write while sending messages out with greater ease. Here he wrote to a neighboring entity, hoping to get a response, just this once. It had been over a decade since they last had contact from the East.

Dear Olivia,
I have not heard from you in so long. i do hope you are doing ok down river. Patna is doing well and has expanded upon its holdings, two towns have been founded by colonists from Patna itself and two more have joined in a sort of federation. I hope to hear from you one day, until then. I will not send Patnans too far east where they could interfere with you or your people.

Your friend,
Javin

Javin ensures the letter is given to a merchant heading down river to trade with them. There wasn't much trade in that direction currently, but every so often an expedition would head out in search of something new. For now however, Javin would simply have to work with the Assembly to maintain the various entities which he created here. The town guard, the assembly, the market square; all of them had to be overseen to a degree. Javin had declined previously to be speaker, but with elections coming up again, he wondered if he should try for a fourth term. He knew that periodically he had to at the very least attempt to act as the leader. One of the children he had taken in fifteen years ago after the war with Arrah, was a girl named Irra. She had been seven then and had grown quite fond of Javin in the recent years, even rejecting marriage on multiple occasions simply to remain in Javin's home assisting with the other children or to help Javin maintain such a large home.

The months before the spring where colder winds blew in from the Tibetan Plateau could get particularly unpleasant. It was on one of these nights that Javin let Irra stay with him in his own bed for the first time. As the weeks passed, the two of them continued to talk and eventually, Javin announced that they would be married. Javin's second marriage, he determined, would have to be one a little more involved. While previously, he had been worried about local genetics, he came to terms with the idea that his own genes could improve the health of the community in the long term.

---

Summer, 2980 BCE

The Monsoon season came as it always does in early summer. The rains rejuvenated the lands and brought silt within the flood plains around the rivers. This year was no different. The only disappointment came to Javin from the Assembly, he had lost the election to a young and upcoming merchant named KariKala. The young man had immigrated here from one of the Indus Valley cities, Javin wasn't sure which, but over the last two years he had really cemented himself and married into two of the local merchant families creating a sizable political block in doing so. Even still, Javin lost by only a handful of votes causing Karikala to offer him another yearly position, that of Commander of the Town Guard. Not that Javin wasn't already heavily involved with the guard, but giving him official command made him the ranking military commander in Patna again.

The next couple of weeks Javin would have to spend taking inventory of the Guard, but this time, unlike the first time with the Guard, he had someone who was at home to help relieve the stresses working the entirety of the day.

[Speyland]

Susan Park

Susan has discovered something shocking. According to the citizens of the tribe, it appears that the empire that they all fear was a fraud and that no such empire that is that strong exists.

Susan smiles upon hearing this. "Is that so?" Susan asked curiously as she wants to confirm it. "It's true, your majesty!" One of the citizens said nervously as they didn't want to make Susan upset. "Very well then, they can come up with lies if they want but they can't fool us." She said. "As you command, your majesty." One of the citizens said as they left without any problems.

"Have we been afraid of nothing?" Susan asked herself as there has to be proof following the evacuation of the tribe after they have been invaded by unknown forces.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
November 1, 1 DC

Susan has developed a calendar that will keep track of how long she has been in power. She called it the Dal calendar because it was developed at nighttime when the moon was shining around that time.

It is basically a copy of the Gregorian calendar except it is different and she wants to make it as original as possible from memory. "I forgot what day it was when I got transported here," Susan said as she is having trouble thinking.

She looked at the leaves falling from the trees as the colors were changed from green to orange. It is a sign that it is autumn. "I think it is either October or November." She said with ease. Currently, it is November 1, 1 DC.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
November 3, 1 DC

Susan came up with an idea to spread the writing system of the Korean alphabet to the citizens of the tribe in hopes of improving the literacy rate. She remembers teaching it to Shin back then, now she wants to share her knowledge with the people of the tribe.

The people quickly understood the language with some mentorship from Susan as she can do it for free. The Korean alphabet is slowly becoming a trend and calligraphy is understood by some people.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
November 17, 1 DC

Susan has heard something she wasn't expecting to hear. A harvest festival has occurred as the people celebrated the arrival of the harvest as it is a message from god. Because of this, Susan makes it a national holiday for generations to come but she denies that God isn't responsible for making the harvest happen.

So far, the tribe's population is booming because of this event and the economy is slightly improving.

[G-Tech Corporation]

A Winter's Tale

Lord Commander Monroe
Imperial Britannia Expedition Headquarters

Both good news and bad it seems. The arrival of Captain Veridan’s convoy of troops, tools, horses and other essentials was indeed needed. Yet the news of a hostile and seafaring power, one that my staff and I agreed could only be Icedonia. The militant and genocidal nation to our south that was the cause of this refugee crisis that lead to my deployment here. Most startling was that if they were deploying ships to attempt to block our supply lines, that means that an assault from the land was only a matter of time.

Fort Defiance has been under martial law since then, with traders and other travelers only allowed in if the local leadership vouged for them much to the detriment of our efforts here but a threat like this needed harsh measures. Bringing the chieftain of Boston on to my staff mitigated most of the public relations damage, and envoys sent to the outline tribes that had sworn the oaths had allowed more supplies and troops to flow into Defiance for the potential defense.

My Dragoons would find this army if there was one, and I readied the Defense of the Fort and now It seems that all Defiance could do was wait, and all I could do was to learn all I could about our new enemy.

---

The decision to take a week in their journey from Orrenoir to Ft. Defiance had been a deliberate one. Had they marched chosen to march at their more typically expedient speed, then they would have reached the imp fortress within a matter of a few days ( never mind the lack of infrastructure and winter environment ). Their more leisurely pace in approach was done chiefly for two reasons:

The first, so as to acclimate the soldiers of the North Army for the winter environment. Just being outside for extended periods of time would be strenuous enough - but the prospect of prolonged and violent action would be a lethal one for those persons who’ve yet to fully acclimate to the chilly climate. Giving them a full week of being in the outdoors gave their bodies time to get used to the cold and the wind - so that should they need to execute sudden and rapid action, their bodies would not immediately succumb to strains of frostbite or asphyxiation.

The second, and most pressing, was to confirm the reports which they’d been receiving from their agents and allies in the north. Which people had traded, or even, allied with the invaders; terrain composition; and to pin down exactly where the enemy scouts were.

The High-Commander of the North Army, Capt. Amharak, was impressed by the accuracy of the reports that he’d received. He mused on the savages, rather confidently, as his stead’s hoof’s plotted upon the planks of the bridge, up the western approach to the fort. He’d rode alone, breaking through the treeline along a deer path, and sighting the fortress off the distance. He’d seen the meager wall that they’d erected, and the towers they’d raised, as well as the artillery they’d positioned - right were the reports said they’d be.

He pulled on the white pancho that hung around his shoulders, as an icy breeze passed over the bridge - chilling him and his stead. An omen: evil spirits haunted such places - and would send icy winds to ward off those who would defile their domains. Numb chills ran up his spine as his stead had taken the first steps off the bridge onto the otherside. They’d crossed over into the domain of evil.

Beyond the tactical reports he’d heard other, more concerning things about the so called, Imps. They’d come from across the morning sea, a savage race of destruction and domination. They’d fought the vikings for slaves, and upon crossing the sea, they’d force the people they found to work through the winter months - erecting their battlements and coercing the ignorant into serving them. They worshiped a chief who called himself a messenger for the god of undeath. Their first steps upon alien shores were taken by the boots of slavers and murders. A savage people from a savage continent… the Sevrant’s instructions had been clear, and though the captain would have liked to exterminate the entire savage race for having defiled the virtuous land by setting foot upon its soil, he would execute the orders given to him.

The dutiful soldier stopped short of the gates, looking up at the towers and the men that stationed them. Savage invaders. If there was to be any humanity shown here, it would be his own. Raising both his hands up to his helmet, he raised the shell from off his head, to reveal a well groomed man in his early forties.

---

It wasn’t long before they arrived, this army of Icedonia, much different than the regular run of the mill barbarians most imperials have ever fought. No, these men were organized disciplined and for marching in this season definitely determined. Along with the reports from the refugees a blood thirsty bunch and I made sure that the soldiers defending Defiance knew that if it came to it all men would be killed and the women would have it much worse.

But our mission here was not conquest and if these Icedonians were remotely civilized the possibility of an agreement was present just like back in the lands of serbia. Hopefully I don’t get kneecapped by the rose council for doing the right things, again.

“Send a messenger, let their leader know I wish to discuss terms, everyone else you know your duty, see to it.”

---

The gate creaked open, revealing the inside of the fortress. Standing at the entrance was a silhouette, flanked by two more wielding weapons in their hands. Beyond them workers toiled and worked, and the sound of a developing fortress was ever more present. As the messenger approached the Captain, the soldiers followed in tow. The man was ordained with a simple garb, much akin to that of any normal civilian. The only real things of note, was a necklace with a cross, and a great scar lay on his right cheek. “Welcome to Boston, foreigner, regarding your garb and weapons you are of Icedonia, no?” the man asked with a friendly and kind voice. His andonian was rough, but was tolerable.

[h][/h]

Cpt. Amahrak remained seated upon his horse while he watched the western gates open. He curiosity piquing to see what mysteries the savages held inside. Once they’d opened wide enough, and looking past the three figures that began to exit, he saw scenes of men being put to work, picking through the frozen earth and toiling in the cold. So they’re not quite done with everything now are they? A note of interest he would be sure rely back to his subordinates following this meeting’s AAR.

He settled his sights, finally, upon the approaching party. Two men, brandishing weapons, obviously warriors, flanked a more peculiar and drab looking individual. The captain was more than a bit disappointed - he’d been told these savages wore full steel armor, and yet the first of their likes he would meet were adorned in nothing more than a kind of metal netting! Beyond his disappointment though was his curiosity for the man with whom the warriors appeared to be guarding. Nothing outwardly seemed to distinguish him - nothing that he was able to spot, perhaps the amulet worn around his neck was badge akin to the broche used by accants?

He certainly was in a different position when compared to his double guards, for he would be the first and only one to speak among their trio. The trouble with Andonian was, it was impossible to tell foreigners apart by their accent! It was no one’s first language, and so everyone spoke it like a foreigner. The pendant wearing savage was fluent enough though, and the captain had no trouble in understanding him. As soon as the invader finished his query, the captain held his tongue, choosing to look between the three men before him - his stead perforating the silence with the occasional trod at the snowy ground below her.

“ Am I currently speaking to Commander. Monroe? “
[h][/h]

“You know of Monroe?” the priest asked inquisitively, “no, I am not him. I am a humble missionary, who the imperials requested aid in getting themselves established, called me Rikanz”

[h][/h]
What’s a missionary? The word didn’t exactly translate. At least, it was a kind of answer for the man’s station among the invaders. A kind of instigator then, since he’d mentioned helping to establish their presence?

“ I am well aware of your commander in many regards - save appearance. Go to him, and inform him that a servant of Icedonia demands his presence. “ Looking down at his horse piqued another idea.

“ As well as feed for his steed. “

[h][/h]

“There is no need, if you are indeed the representative for Icedonia, the Commander would like to see you immediately to discuss terms,” stated the priest with a soft smile. He shifts his eyes towards the Captains horse, “I am certain we can provide for your steed too.”

After sending the horse to the forts stable, Rikanz brought the Icedonian to the Commander's office. It was a simple room, with only the bare essentials. It was however, a private place where those can discuss important affairs. Conner Monroe sat at his desk, ready to talk about important matters. Paperwork moved to the side of the desk. “Welcome, representative of Icedonia,” stated Monroe, “I trust you come with demands?”

[h][/h]

Amahrak was quietly impressed by what he saw, and how accurate the Scout-Elite had been in their reporting of the fort. Battlements were almost precisely where they had been detailed, the weapons carried by soldiers matched exactly with the descriptions he’d read, even the layout of various buildings was spot on.

As he was lead through the town, he was largely ignored by the local inhabitants, but a few among them - those savage people from the South who’d managed to escape their tribe’s extermination, they were immediately transfixed by the sight of the Icedonian soldier strolling through their midst. The captain made no attempt in hiding that he’d spotted these individuals. Though from appearance, these wretched escapees were identical to the Bostonian’s, their shocked and fearful expressions exposed them well enough. Amahark began whistling a vibrant bird song to a tenor’s tune - not meant to replicate any real specimen ( as so many Army command’s were ), but merely to amuse himself with melody.

The commander’s quarters were distinguishable from the other shabby buildings of the town, only in that more soldiers were seen to be running in and around it’s premises. Into the witch's den, with stout courage and unwavering pride, Haigard descended. The Army man recounted the legend of Haigar and the slaying of the night witch, as he was lead into the quarters of his imperial counterpart. The interior didn’t seem nearly as shabby as what he would have expected from the outside - being more adorned with, what he figured for, imp amenities. A number of the persons within looked up with mild curiosity as he passed by them into the private office of Commander. Monroe.

Finally, entering into the private office of his counterpart, he was able to see the leader of the men who would come to lay claim upon the land and people of the West. Connor Monroe, Amahrak’s first sight of him was sat behind a modest wooden desk, with paper and other parchment pushed to one side. He wore comfortable military garb, and appeared somewhat eager to meet him - his brief introduction certainly spoke to that degree. Amahrak didn’t bother to sit down as he began.

“ Yes - as an unwelcome guest should expect from the owners of the land. I am Captain. Amahrak of clan Teliborne, High-Commander of the North Army, and a servant of the Virtuous People. I have been commanded, by my superiors, and the highest servants of my nation, to come to Boston - and to see that your warriors leave the Virtuous land as soon as possible. For the reasons that: you have come upon our shores uninvited, you have brought soldiers and erected battlements upon ground that is not yours, and you have forced the denizens of the north to labor away through winter with promises that cannot be honored. You and your comrades are unwelcome here - and though the druids of your sacrificial god may remain for their good deeds of the past - you may not. “

Ah, well, that was that out in the open then. Not that there was ought else to be expected, based on the report of the locals - but still, the wolf that howls in the night is easier to mark when it snarls at one’s door. Monroe shifted back in his chair, drumming, his fingers on the rough hewn oak furniture. After a moment he raised his right hand, holding up three of those fingers, callused from hard labor themselves.

“Captain Amahrak. You make many statements, which hold a few facts I should clarify for you.”

The first finger he retracted into the fist of his hand, voice still genial.

“Item one. You speak of Nevis - of Boston - as a part of your shores. I assure you that the kindreds of Manimal, Imshan, Turvin, Klothis, and Nar-Neval hold no such allegiance. I am quite happy to present you to their leaders hereafter post-haste, in case you need any clarification on such a point.”

The second finger he then retracted, leaving merely the forefinger crooked somewhat accusingly toward the Icedonian captain.

“Item two. You speak of my men laboring to defend ground which is not ours - a point on which we are agreed. I stand upon this soil not to ward my own lands and wealth, but in my role as a commander of the Imperium, to be the shield of those who must be joined to our great shield-wall so they may defend themselves. We are here at the request of the Five Kindreds for just such a purpose.”

The last finger retracted into the leather-gloved fist of the commander, and the military man rested it gently on the desk before him.

“Item three. Forced them to labor? Hardly. They are beset by foes without, both the Norsemen and, indeed, the rumor of war which you bear in your vanguard. They needed only knowledge of how to erect these fortifications, and guidance in their construction, and their men labored with admirable constancy to raise them despite the inclement weather. For that, at least, I suppose I must thank you - a desire to defend one’s home is a far greater motivator than any recompense I could have offered. When first we heard report of your… army… marching north, the chiefs of the kindreds demanded that they be allowed to work extra shifts, to free up my soldiers for battle, if battle may be needed.”

Now Monroe’s tone was more matter of fact, somber eyes peering at the Icedonian captain from where he reclined, a panther at rest.

“So you see, you have come here with a set of false assumptions. Perhaps you should return to your Sevrant to debate with him why he has sent you here without the full story. Unless the Five Kindreds should change their stripes about the manner in which they wish to live, as free men instead of Icedonian slaves, I am uncertain what you wish to discuss - unless you have another set of demands to issue, one more reflective of the reality of your situation instead of the ambitions of your warlord.”

Monroe halted for a minute, then frowned grimly, a slight expression of disgust passing his face. He reached behind his desk, and retrieved a heavy sack, hefting it over to fall at the captain’s feet.

“Oh, though, one more thing. If you go to confer with your Sevrant, take your countrymen with you. They deserve a burial for their bravery, at least. Next time, consider more carefully whether sending good men to spy upon a land where others know their faces is a wise course of action. I might have let them live, but it was not I who discovered their presence - but rather their lapsed brothers in arms, who are of a more truly Icedonian bent than I myself, and so less inclined to mercy.”

Within the sack were six heads, distinctive to those who knew them - the Scurling brothers, and three other Scouts-Elite, marked out from the kindreds by their lack of social ties and then condemned by the lips of those deserters and disillusioned warriors which had come from the south. Beheading was not the Imperial way, but these were not yet properly Imperial lands.

[h][/h]

The captain had dealt with enough savages and fought enough battles to know what was in the sack, even before the imp had gone and explained. He didn’t feel rage at the affront; to dispatch an enemy’s scouts was proper tactic, and even a mainstay by which commanders and the scout corps operated by. That would certainly explain the lack of response, he thought with morbid humor as he looked down at the bag. He didn’t know if the heads inside were actually those of the Scout-Elite that had been sent to spy among the invaders, and he wouldn’t humor the savages by inspecting. Counting the number of heads though, by a few gentle prods, curiously, there numbered six in the bag!

Six…strange… he’d only known of three men to infiltrate the town proper. The other Scout-Elite who had more clandestinely prowled the countryside, he’d met earlier that morning. Even if the imp’s had managed to kill all three infiltrators, then that would mean… another thought of morbid humor passed hs mind, and the captain did well enough to suppress a grin.

Amahrak looked up from the bag, and having made no attempt to touch it beyond a few cursory nudges with his foot, he leveled a hard stare down toward the imp. “ These aren’t our men. “

He said in a manner that was a matter of fact, “ The ones we had spying on you, Conner Monroe, I spoke to just this morning. I don’t know who these poor souls are. Perhaps… they could have told you, had not their executioners relied upon the words of cowards and runaways.”

The commander threw his hands out from the poncho, and clasped them round his back - a few of the more itchy guard’s heads twitched at the sudden movement. The brief fluttering of the poncho revealed a iron colored hammer and dagger clinging to along the commander’s belt.

“ But, as our scouts have informed us, your’s is a tribe well acquainted with lies, isn’t it? Your favorite being those… what did they say… oaths? That there should be a reward for slaving at your feet, beyond death and domination? Say less though, for as the adage goes: words mean nothing. A savage refusing reason has never been a problem to the Virtuous People though, for we’ve other more brilliant ways of communicating to them. “

He gave the sack of heads a final nudge with the end of his foot, “ You will leave commander, and your warriors shall follow suit: either back across the Morning sea, or into whatever Hell your people fear. That these people shall be free from your tyranny and deception is inevitable. “

Looking about the room one final time, taking in what details he could, he felt a kind of a resolute warmness in his chest - things had gone about as well as they had been expected too.

“ Between you and I, we’ve clearly nothing left to discuss. If you’ve nothing left to say, then I shall take my leave. Another messenger shall arrive to you around midday tomorrow. “

At the Icedonian captain’s words, Monroe nodded.
“I had not expected you to acknowledge their sacrifice, but I had hoped otherwise might be the case. We’ll burn them then, if you do not seek to do them any honors. My own honor is bound to the defense of these people who you would butcher- we have heard more than enough of the Virtuous People and what their virtues compose.”

At a gesture from the Imperial commander, one of the guards inside the tent stepped over and picked up the tent, bearing it through the door of the tent and out of the commander’s sight.

Send another messenger if you have ought worth saying. If you only have more empty threats to deliver while scouting out the defenses here, I shall have no compunctions about returning such a spy to your lines minus his head. Tell your Sevrant if he wishes to negotiate he would do well to send a man in possession of the truth, instead of his… alternative history. Negotiation from a position of fantasy profits Icedonia not at all.”

As the Icedonian captain turned to go, Monroe made one final remark.

“Oh, Captain Amahrak? Do not think that I shall long tolerate the presence of your Army within the lands the Five Kindreds possess. I am bound by oath to defend such lands, and though I am willing to be reasonable, bear in mind that any injustices visited upon them shall be answered for. Your Sevrant has three days - if he does not turn his men back south by then, I shall negotiate their return with steel instead of words.”

The armed man stood tall, stiff as if offended, but he did not speak - only the flash of anger and bloodthirst in his eyes told exactly how close the Commander had ventured to provoking him. A careful study in indifference, Monroe returned to his work, pulling over a sheaf of reports while the Icedonian departed to signal that he was dismissed. The tension in the two Guardsmen standing nearby was palpable for a brief moment, and then the sound of the door to the office groaned under the Icedonian captain’s hands.

His footsteps receded, and Monroe allowed himself to glance up, stretching out his back from the posture it had been in, ramrod straight, for the duration of the negotiations. Taking a moment to cough, and school his vocal cords, he nonchalantly spoke to one of the guards.

“Asmodan? Send for the five chiefs. They’ll want to know what the Icedonians have on their minds, no doubt.”

With a brief nod and a tap over his breast, one of the Guardsmen departed following the Icedonian captain at speed. For a few minutes Monroe half-read a missive on the disposition of the southern skirmishers who had been keeping an eye on what passed for roads in this part of the world, then with relief he looked up as the door opened. A nod, a grim smile, and he gestured toward one of the benches which laid before his desk.

“Master Ivern, take a seat, if you please. The Southerner was just here. The others are coming.”

The burly red-headed chieftain ground a length of stick between his teeth, looking down on the Imperial military man, then nodded and seated himself. The bench creaked under his weight as the bull of a warrior reclined, and as he sat the soldier flexed his hands slowly, in the exercises men of a warlike persuasion used to keep the sinews limber.

A veritable procession of men followed the first chief, until five men of various persuasions and a particularly grumpy looking wizened old woman were filling the front half of Monroe’s office. He held up his hand for attention once the last one was seated, and all eyes turned to the former Northman.

“Honored allies - as you know, the southmen have sent a messenger to speak with me. His demands were simple; that my men and I return across the North Sea to our homes, and that you bow the knee to his lord, the southern warlord, for you are his natural subjects.”

Two barks of laughter, and four glares, greeted that remark. A few seemed incredulous at such an idea, but Monroe’s face gave the lie to any joke - for he spoke in earnest, as earnest as the demands of the Icedonian captain had been.

“Equally naturally, I noted to him the voluntary nature of my position here, and that I serve at your pleasure, and that, to my knowledge, none of your kindreds consider themselves the servants of the southmen. Nor do you consider yourself cattle for the Norsemen to fatten themselves upon in slaves and tribute. He seemed perturbed by my… gall to state that the Five Kindreds owed no allegiance to his master, and thence departed, promising to send another messenger later with more words.”

A short black-haired man rose even as Monroe finished speaking, fingering a half-moon axe that hung at his belt in wrought iron. His eyes were gray and flashed with cold fire as he glanced about the room.

“So they will have war. I told you all it would be so. These southerners, the Icedonians, their steps are heavy with blood. My wife’s brother’s men fled before their assault, fought and died, and I will not be cattle for their meat. You have the men. We have the men. They are few, with few supplies, in terrain they know not. We should march now, before they have time to provision themselves and reinforce their camp, and scatter them from horizon to horizon.”

Monroe held up his hand. Though he understood the standpoint of the master of the Nar-Neval, especially since his people stood furthest south and under greatest threat from the Virtuous People, war begun now on limited terms in the depths of winter would continue far more than a single battle. It was true that the circumstances now favored a quick victory - but come spring, the Icedonians would no doubt muster more men, and he had neither the mandate nor the forces to campaign into England proper.

“I understand your thoughts, Master Jakis. What you speak is sooth - but loathe am I to sacrifice husbands and fathers to the pyre of war without good cause, especially where their blood might be spent more wisely. If they seek to assault us here, instead of us fighting them in the field, we should lose a tenth of the men of a field engagement easily, and they still be left a wreck as you seek.”

Slowly the chieftain of Nar-Neval resumed his seat, and next stood the wise woman - Egmund’s wife, second helper of the folk of Klothis.

“The Commander is right. If they come against us, we have the advantage, even within our humble villages. His scouts have marked their advance, and the Dragoons can frustrate any march against our homes, likely. They are come, as we expected, and we shall have to convince them to return the way they came, one way or another. Open conflict need not take place. The fields are barren, the food within our bivouacs and from beyond the North Sea the only sources of sustenance for leagues. Let Monroe and our best hunters cut off the links of this Army with the south, and in a week it will wither on the vine, compelled either to retreat and trouble us no longer or fling itself against our fortifications to die. We need not be butchers or slaves - let the southerners decide on their own if they die or not.”

It was wise council, and, after several minutes more of discussion, the course of action that the Kindreds decided to adopt - a more aggressive course of action than Monroe would have wanted, but ultimately he relied upon their cooperation for any measure, and it would have to do. Judging by the reports from the naval contingent, war was already upon him, wish it or no. Wounded men were recovering in the surgical ward of Nevis even now, and a few missed supplies would not fan the conflict any further than the Icedonian attempt to strangle his own supply lines had already done.

After an hour, several squads of his personal dragoons, perhaps the most well-trained outriders in the entire Imperium, in his humble opinion, were beyond the walls of Nevis with squads of the best hunters from the Kindreds. They were some of the most lethal men the world yet knew, capable of scything down dozens with their repeaters before melting away into the terrain with their tactical acumen, and would work to strangle the Icedonian Army on the vine. Men with empty bellies and only ice and mud to eat would hesitate to venture further into the inhospitable north, certainly.

[h][/h]

The foot looked to the sky, through the ceiling of dark branches that hung above his head, gazing up toward the rolling clouds, whose misty heavens reminded him of the rolling hills of his home. Granted, this place looked kind of like his home too, but it just wasn't the same. He pressed his back up snuggly, resting himself into the bed of snow and liter that he had crafted. At only fifteen years of age, the young man had taken the call for mobilization with an initial sense of dread and misery. Never having seen battle, beyond those trained drills which he had partaken in during basic training, he was told that war was afoot beyond the north frontier. Invaders, from across the morning sea they had said; not vikings they had said, some other kind of steel wielding savages.

Viking, imp, or any other kind of savage, it didn't matter, those first few days of marching were miserable. Compounded with his anxious foreboding, was the winter weather. Were as more sane persons would have been sat in their homes next to a fire and warm meal, the virtuous soldier could be seen marching across frozen roads, and after they had passed the boundaries of the Service, drudging through frozen forests. He'd always been jealous of the chargers, riding high upon their beasts of war - until he had seen them try to maneuver through the unmanaged forests beyond the Service. Those primeval woods, that had stood since before the times of man, were near impassable for them. It hadn't taken more than a day before they'd simply dismounted and began walking their steeds instead ( it honestly was much faster for them ). It had been a sad sight indeed, to see chargers dismount and walk with the rest of the infantry.

Since having set down for camp however, his spirits had begun to lighten. For the first time in days, he was being given the opportunity for true rest and relaxation ( minus those times he was pulled for patrol ). With his team, he'd been permitted a few innocent games of Krangerz ( which inevitably resulted in a few wrestling matches ), and with his platoon he'd filled his belly with portions of fresh hare and a parcel of beer. His belly was warm and full, and he'd even gotten used to the cold, which now was no more than a slight nuisance to him. Curled up in his warm winter pancho, and surrounded by the walls of his snowy bed, and the white noise made by the teams all camped round them, he could've very well dozed off in that moment, had not his sergeant come back just then.

He was first alerted to his superior's presence when another foot asked a curious question. " What's wrong sar? "

The foot peeked one of his eye's open to look upon his sergeant. He was tall and pale, and just below all that armor and winter gear he wore, was a lithe and near skeletal frame. His sergeant wasn't an unhealthy man, far from it actually, as he regularly lead the entire company on their two standard runs, it was just that he had the unfortunate fate of looking lethargic. He wasn't a particularly expressive man, his face seeming to always posses a kind of brutal sternness behind the veil, but even the young foot could see a kind of burning behind his eyes. His teeth were yellow, and his down turned mouth gave his Andonian the distinct accent of someone hailing from Avergoine. In no uncertain terms, the sergeant declared,

" The invaders have refused to leave. We're going to fight. "

The unbelievably blunt way that the sergeant had said it caught the foot off guard more than the actual news itself. Some of his team and platoon members clapped their hands together, smiling with glee, or giving off a triumphant laugh. Those men who'd seen combat before, and who'd profited from the spoils looked forward to the impending carnage. The foot though, as well as those fresh faces who'd never known true violence, held their silence. The sergeant was silent too for a moment, though his was surely more a result of reservedness than anything else. One of the senior foots who tended the embers inside of the fire pit, opined the question,

" Where's the lieutenant, sar? "

" He's being briefed by the captain, along with the other commanders. After they're done getting their brief, we'll have a company formation, and we'll be told our course of action. It should be a bit though... '"

Taking a few steps forward, the sergeant eased himself onto a log next to the fire pit. " Guaire, anything left of that hare? "

The senior foot picked up the frying pan from off the ground, and running his finger across it's greasy interior, he turned to look back over at the sergeant. " Just a bit of gristle left, sar. "

The sergeant shook his head, and with a grumble said, " I'll take that over salt pork... you alright Herldad? "

The foot was shaken out of his trance by the sergeant having addressed him. After having been told that he would in fact be going into combat, he'd went into a kind of silent shock. He lied and nodded, " Yes sar, i'm fine. "

" No you're not, you're scared out of your mind and I can see it. " Well damn, the foot Herldad thought to himself. A few sniggers went up from the more mean spirited of the platoon, which made Herldad feel all the more embarrassed for being called out; the sergeant didn't laugh though, he just stared at the foot in silent contemplation, chewing on the last bit's of gristle left from the hare.

" It's okay to be scarred lad... we're all scarred sometimes. What matters is that we don't let that fear control us, blind us to what needs to be done. Courage is the virtue of hero's, and all men who must battle monsters. It is the courage of the fifteen that every soldier is filled with in the heat of combat. "

At the mention of the fifteen, every man around the campfire turned their heads to look at sergeant. Holding Herldad's gaze for a few moments longing, the sergeant began to wipe the grease from his hands. He looked around his platoon. " Since no doubt that all's you's are more than a bit scarred, why don't we ask them for courage, aye? "

No one had to say anything, everyone just instinctively began getting up and searching for their fetish before coming to crowd round the campfire. Herldad picked up the spear that laid next to his side - placing his hand directly over the fifteen notches that had been cut into it's shaft. Every man's fetish was different: some had fifteen notches cut into their bow, some had fifteen stitches sewn into their trousers, some wore necklaces with fifteen stones gathered from the west. Whatever their fetish was, it always had something to do with fifteen. Something to commemorate the fifteen Ablan soldiers, who'd died fighting in the war of the West, and whose sacrifice had created the Service. Herldad, being from Danarran, knew of their cult before ever having joined the Army - so unlike other fresh soldiers, he hadn't needed anyone to explain to him the fifteen's significance.

After the whole platoon had gathered round the fire pit, someone piped up, " Hey sar, where's Bercuoli? "

Bercuoli was their designated scout, whose main job was to scout ahead on behalf of the platoon. The sergeant shook his head while answering, " He'll be out all night on mission. "

" Retzev? "

The sergeant gave a nod back, and a few laughs went up around the platoon, before finally quieting down once again. Each man held in both his hands their special fetish, and bowed their heads in silent reverance. Herldad gripped tightly round his spear, feeling the groove of each individual notch. It had been a gift from his team leader, the notches, a symbol that he was apart of their unit and fully deserving of the respect that came with it. The sergeant began speaking, his inquiry to the dead.

" Hear us, fallen soldiers... we have come to ask you for favor. We are like you, brothers-in-arms, serving the virtuous people. Like you, we are set to fight against a savage enemy. Like you, not all of us will return. Death stands before us, and safety at our backs. You had the courage to take those steps forward, to throw yourself with violent fury upon death herself. Your bodies died, and your spirits became immortal, your deeds legendary. You followed your path to the very end, through toil and blood you did what you set out to do. We ask that you give us that same vigor, that divine courage that made you conquer fear itself. That we might serve a higher purpose, until our service is finally done. "

" And if you could, we'd like to live through this as well. "

A foot had interjected his own request in the middle of the prayer, which brought up roars of laughter from all around the campfire. With every gasping laugh, Herldad could feel his nerves and anxiety begin to melt away. He felt warm again, like everything was going to be fine. He didn't care about the fight, because he was going to see whatever happened all the way through. No, to say his nerves melted away was wrong, he just felt something supersede them: courage. Courtesy of the fifeen.

The next morning…

His body had gone numb with fear, he couldn't even feel the snow upon his bare knees he'd been sitting there for so long. His wrists chaffed and bled at the bindings that tied them together, and he so longed to adjust them so as not to pinch - but he remained frozen still, choosing not to move even a single muscle for fear of immediate execution. He kept his head down, peering only out the corner of his eyes to see the world around him. He prayed to every god and ancestor he could think of, please don't let us die here! The young Klothis man had only ever heard stories of this kind of thing happening, but he knew well enough what an extermination was to know that that was what was about to happen.

The whole Klothis clan had been bound and sat together at the center of their village, placed upon the bare snow and given next to no amenities, being forced to sit still for hours. Cry's and muted moans could be heard from all around - no one dared protest though, or attempt to resist, that had already been tried by the more foolhardy among them, and their corpses lay only a short distance away, staining the snow purple and red. The sound of crunching snow was the only indication that the young man had had of someone approaching him. Opening up his eyes, he saw a pair of boots standing only inches in front of him.

" Get up. "

The voice said in a commanding tone, the dialect his own but with clearly the accent of a foreigner. Placing one foot on the ground and pushing himself upward, the man's whole body seemed to cry out in pain from hours of cold and not moving. Even after having stood up fully, he didn't raise his head, fearing to look up into the eye's of the soldier before him. Even with his head down, he could tell that the fiend before him was massive - the top of his head reaching not even passed the brutes chest. " Look at me. "

Despite every instinct within him crying out not to, the man raised up his head, and looked up at the veiled face before him. His eye's were hidden under his helmet's shadow - the helmet itself had been painted over in shades of brown and black. Round his shoulders he wore a large white poncho that meshed into the snowy landscape around them, and which concealed a myriad of weapons beneath. Across his arms and legs were tied bits of foliage, leaves, sticks, and other natural clutter. In his left hand he held a small square of wood, tied on two ends by a piece of straw rope. Looking up into the shadows were the soldier's eyes should have been, he was met with only a cold emptiness, followed by the killer's sentence. " You'll do. "

They had come before the dawn, stalking into their village while they slept, breaking into their homes and dragging his kin out into the snow. He'd been awoken round the time the screaming and whistling had begun, as a rough hand threw him from his bed onto the floor, sending him into a panicked frenzy before a veil-faced soldier gave his chest a debilitating thud, sending him back onto the floor. He'd nearly blacked out from the hit, his consciousness fading in and out of darkness, seeing himself get dragged outside, women attempting to flee before being cut down, people being thrown into a great huddled mass at the center of the village. Lucidity had returned to him the moment he was thrown down into the snow, were he'd been waiting in frozen fear ever since. The Icedonian's had finally come upon them, and they captured his entire clan in mere minutes. Weeks of feverish work through the winter cold had made him and his kindred weak and sick. What few hunters that had not left the village yesterday to go to the imp camp, had been the few to try and fight back. All for vain though.

The soldier put the square of wood and rope round his neck, like a kind of necklace. From one of his pockets, the soldier produced a black cylinder, and holding the placard in one of his hands, began to write out strange drawings onto the wood. The Klothis man knew what writing was, per say, but had no knowledge of how to decipher it himself. He simply did his best not to move round while the rope tugged at his neck. Eventually, the soldier had finished his scribbling, and placing the writing utensil back into his pocket, he produced a dagger. Terror gripped around the man's heart in an icy grip, before realizing that the soldier had merely cut his bindings. The man raised up his wrists in surprise, inspecting he cuts and coagulated blood that had accumulated round them, before looking back up at the soldier. He'd put the dagger back into it's hidden sheath, before placing a large gloved hand onto the man's shoulder. As he spoke in the eerie rendition of his own language, it was strange to see no air rise up from behind the veil.

" Boy, you are being given a special task. You are to be a messenger... our messenger, to the invaders. You are to go down to Boston, and present yourself before their warriors. This placard, "

He shook the wooden square as indication of what he meant,

" Will be your key to entry. Upon it, is a message, which must be given to Commander. Monroe. " The soldier then turned and pointed toward the southeast. The sky was overcast in heavy clouds of gray, and not even the faintest hints of the sun could peer through.

" Boston is several standards in that direction. If you hurry, you'll make the journey in a little over three serns ( about four hours in this case ). You should avoid meeting and contacting anyone along your path, hide if you must. Our scouts patrol these woods, and have been cutting out the invader's eye's all night long. They might mistake you for one of them. Or worse, the invaders confuse you for one of us. "

Pushing the man along by his shoulder, he lead him from out the huddled mass of his kin, passed the soldiers that guarded round them all, and to the edge village itself. The man, for all but the soldier's hand still clasped round his shoulder, seemed free to go. The field that stood directly in front of his village was the only thing keeping him from the forest. His heart did not tempt itself with hope though, for he knew that he was not truly free - with his clan at his back still trapped behind Icedonian spears.

" Get there quickly boy, for should you fail... " The soldier whispered the final warning into the man's ear, and only seconds later the man was off.

Four hours later...

He'd stopped feeling cold some hours ago - he'd stopped feeling at all really. His lungs had stopped burning from his furious strides over tree roots and frozen soil, his feet had stopped bleeding where their wrapping's had busted open and blood seeped through, his face stopped stinging from the wind that cut and lashed against him constantly, even his heart had stopped being gripped in pained fear. The only part of him that hadn't stopped feeling any passion was his mind, still driven by the instinct to keep moving forward. Drudging through calf high snow, one pained step at a time, his mind refused to stop. Even as his body collapsed into the snow, and could move no more, his mind still willed itself forward, his hands clawing at the earth itself to pull him forward. Every ounce of strength he had, and the strength he didn't have was put into moving him forward. He'd lost his destination, lost the time, lost even his purpose for moving at the furious pace he had been going. All that remained was the drive, to keep going forward.

It was the last thing to leave him, laying there upon his back in the snow, face turned up toward the dark gray sky. Though he'd no way of knowing, he'd done it. Through all the maddening misery and frost, he'd managed to come up to the west bridge that lead up to Ft. Defiance, completing his duty before finally being given a merciful death. His body lay still at the base of the bridge, insight of any person happening to pass by. Round his neck still hung the placard and the message scrawled across it, in both ( Imperial ) Common and Andonian. The Icedonian messenger had arrived, and he brought with him an invitation.

I am a son of Klothis, and I call upon your aid, warriors of the Imperium. My entire clan has been taken prisoner by the North Army of the Virtuous Land, and are being held two standards northwest of our village. Should no one come to their salvation by dusk, my kin shall be slain one and all. We have given our bodies and toil for your promise of protection. Now then, warriors of the Imperium, honor your oaths!

---

Somber was the mood of the greybeard as he sat sharpening his spear, and dour too were the spirits of Monroe as he contemplated the growing mass of villagers that was burgeoning in what passed for Nevis’ central square. The body had been discovered less than half an hour earlier, and the message brought quietly to his quarters - but somebody must have seen it beforehand, and that explained the foment. After a half hour of deliberation with the captains, the last thing the commander wanted to have to do was run PR. The price of public approval, or something like that.

He squared his shoulders, a kink in his neck talking to him momentarily, and opened the door to headquarters. The babble of voices in the square - previously muffled by the thin oak, now grew to a dull tumult, before receding into quiet. They expected him to speak, so speak he would.

“The news you have heard is true. The Icedonians have sent a messenger, a man of Klothis, with a placard proclaiming that the bivouac has been overrun by their forces and her people taken captive.”

The murmuring began again, scared and angry faces looking toward the tired man out of time. He shook his head slightly, and continued.

“At the moment, we cannot verify this to be true. My last reports have the enemy - for as an enemy we must now treat them - nearly seven miles away from Klothis. There is a strong possibility that the man Anders was simply captured in the field, and the message sent to distract the warriors of our brothers from their duties. They so brutalized brother Anders that we cannot know the truth of this message, for he perished scarce before arriving here.”

It did not quiet the voices - but it did change their tone. And Monroe was putting as brave a face on the matter as possible. There had been no news from the patrol stationed near Klothis since dawn, but they weren’t expected back in the village until evening, and he wouldn’t hear from their runner until daybreak, at earliest. The Icedonians were cunning - sometimes too cunning for their own good - and whatever else they might be, he wasn’t going to march his men off in the opposite direction to their approaching second army at the merest hint of a threat to civilian targets.

No - this was time that counseled deliberation. What news there was from the field was good. The Icedonians, for all their vaunted skill in the field, were not locals. Reports from those of his outriders who had engaged the enemy were positive, noting a lack of significant armoring, and a propensity to distribute their forces instead of concentrating in formations that would have been unassailable by his swift-moving squads. Bit by by, the enemy was hemorrhaging soldiers, and that was what had to have provoked this move.

A ruse? A strike against civilian targets out of desperation? It was hard to say which it might be. But either way, the course of action had to be the same. Master Perikolas had taken two dozen of his forest-runners north west, back toward their bivouac, to assess the truth of the enemy’s claim.

“At any rate, we must now be aware of one thing - that the Icedonians have ended all pretense of negotiations. The extortion of honest men at the threat of innocent lives is a grave evil, one I promise shall be banished from your lands ere the coming of spring. Upon that matter, you have my word. More information has been distributed to your Firstmen. Be strong and courageous - the Icedonians may be wicked, but they have not the strength of righteousness in their hands.”

Gradually the crowd dispersed, men muttering into their beards, most probably going to find their leaders or talk about the developments in private. They probably didn’t by and large believe that malarkey about righteousness - nor did Monroe, when you came down to it. But the Imperium was the best of many bad options, from everything the former Norseman had seen. And that was good enough in this strange and dark world.

There was one more matter to attend to, though. Just in case these… Virtuous People were exactly as virtuous as their name gave the lie to. Monroe stamped his feet as he walked, keeping the circulation up, and made his way over to a particularly new building in Nevis, where four men stood guard, two in the white winter livery of the Guard, two in tattered furs that bespoke their native origin.

It didn’t take long to sort through the half dozen men that they had taken captive and find one willing to bear the message. Icedonian scouts of some sort, they had been caught trying to sneak toward Nevis by outriders, run down by locals who knew the terrain better than they. He had started with a dozen, but half had fought to the death before the others threw down their arms. Hardy bastards. Now at least one of them would earn back their freedom.

“Two leagues northwest by four hours march west northwest. Repeat exactly what I told you, or don’t - your own people will suffer if your leader doesn’t get the message, but that’s up to you.”

The blank faced Icedonian scout merely nodded, his eyes barely betraying the flash of hope that filled his breast as the Imperials turned him loose outside of the fortress. Monroe had two purposes in sending the message he did - first to make it clear the consequences of the course of action that Icedonians were pursuing, and secondly because the former prisoner would no doubt report on the host of Imperials now within Neviss. The commander had made sure that his two hundred and fifty odd men were marching on patrols all out of their barracks around the city when the prisoner was walked to the gate, and that would give the enemy a spurious assessment of their strength - eyes could easily overcount, and a good commander would assume much of a force was resting or in the field compared to what could be seen. His few hundreds, to the eyes of an Icedonian barely off of his farm, must have seemed like nearly a thousand, a formidable force.

If it came down to it, aye, they would have to pay the butcher’s bill. But the best part of warfare was making an enemy decide to throw in the towel long before said bill had to be paid. And that was just a part of what Monroe needed to accomplish here to secure the Five Kindreds against further aggression; not only teach the southern brigands that war was costly, too costly to pursue, but also that it was hopeless, that the numbers and weight arrayed against them were without recourse. Men with a pugilist’s hope of unlikely victory could still cause trouble. Stamping out the very spectre of that hope was necessary if peace were to be achieved via the strength of arms, which was apparently the only language the stubborn southerners understood.

And there was one set of masts fewered in the harbor than he would have liked.

An eloquent shrug of his shoulders to himself as Monroe walked back to his barracks to take evening meal with the men. It was the only language many Norsemen understood, and Imperials likewise. This was a savage world still, barely made tamer through the efforts of such men as Viktor and, in his own small way, himself. Monroe only hoped the history books, whoever wrote them, would look kindly on his attempts to avoid slaughtering these savages, whatever their faults.

As he walked through the streets, he noticed a familiar face in a nearby knot of soldiers.

“Private Ted!” the commander called, forceful voice carrying through the square and causing the sallow youth to pause in his lockstep. A gesture from his squadleader, and the translator-come-soldier loped over to where his superior stood, a quick tap of the fist over his breast betraying the military discipline that he was gradually accumulating.

“Just wishing you good luck out there, son. Those Icedonians are cunning, but Varmal is more cunning by half. Try not to get yourself killed.”

The four chieftains that had remained in Nevis were deploying their men to the field, their hunters being of more use there than behind the ramshackle palisade which Imperial men would be fully capable of manning. That meant Ted and his squad of local recruits from the south were headed west too, under the auspices of the Master of Nar-Neval, to begin this war in earnest.

Monroe wasn’t happy sending such a young man into battle. It wasn’t the modern way. But here even men as young as Ted were men in truth, by the standards of their villages, and the enemy would give no quarter on account of their beardless faces. It was a harsh world. He only hoped he hadn’t sent the good-hearted Ted to his doom.

---

Myers chewed contemplatively on the bit of partridge, wishing fervently for some eastern spices to wash down the tough meat. Still, the hot fat at least did the job of moistening the flesh, and it meant another tin of dessicated rations that he wouldn’t have to go without if times came hard.

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that sergeant?”

The dour red-haired Norseman only shrugged, glancing across the remnants of the camp-fire toward his second, and the other eight figures that stood a short distance away. Two didn’t wear the white surcoats of his command, but they probably couldn’t even follow Common, so he didn’t care much what they heard.

“Man’s gotta eat, Levi. No sense letting good food go to waste, all hot and just ready for the mouth. Besides, not like the original owners are going to miss it.” He smiled darkly, kicking one of the lightly snow-covered bundles near at hand.

At first it had been hard going, marking the southern brigands. They moved more like a big party of raiders than a proper military force, small parties trudging with a large degree of separation but still fairly near to hand, and screened by proper skirmishers. The skirmishers didn’t know the terrain as well as their local assets, but they did a mighty good job of pretending they did, and ambushing them was one of the more difficult jobs Myers had ever had to deal with. Killing the two they did four days ago had seen Grunwalder speared in the thigh, and only a hasty hot knife to the wound had prevented him from exsanguinating right there on the forest floor.

But they were getting sloppy. Or, someone had tweaked their tail right proper elsewhere. The scouts had disappeared two days ago, and then it had been a case of the wolves against the… well, maybe not sheep. Hm. Bad comparison. Wolves against the deer with big horns? Hearty animals with fire in their bones, these Icedonians were, but they weren’t quite equipped for the task. Light armor was well and good for marching fast in heavy snow over long distances, but pretty much just offering one’s soul to the Beyond when it came to stopping a bolt in the dark, or a dagger when you were taking a shit.

Oh, you could give them credit where credit was due. They were good military men. Pick off a squad, and they didn’t chase endlessly into the forest depths. You couldn’t really separate them enough to make a proper go of disassembling the formation, they had at least that much discipline. A few minutes of fervent hunting, and they went right back to trudging east, toward whatever goal their leader had set for them, leaving the dead where they fell. That had to sting, suppressing the instinct for revenge, and sticking to the plan. Myers probably couldn’t have done the same in their shoes, but then again, he never anticipated having to do likewise. That was why he was a soldier - not because he believed in any bloody pomp about prosperity or glory for the Imperium or human flourishing or all that, but because he was a winner. And he planned to go right on winning for the rest of his life, starting with a full belly of pheasant that the dead Icedonians at his feet wouldn’t need any longer.

A death by pinpricks, but a death nonetheless. Against a greater host it might have been easy to ignore, nearly a dozen squads moving in the trees, striking against the moving Icedonian squads furthest away from their fellows. A host of thousands could have sustained the losses for weeks, a man dead here from a pitfall, a squad butchered by a volley as they came out into a clearing. But against the two hundred Icedonians and little more, the losses were already becoming serious. A tenth, maybe more, three dozen men taken by the forest, some bodies never found, some left behind lest the stratagem be derailed… not a good start, but a telling sign of the opposition they faced. Perhaps once they hit Nevis the enemy would be forced to stand and fight - but for now they were just ghosts in the snow.

---

The former prisoner reached Klothis just before sundown, and there he was marked by scouts and taken to the main host of the Western Army. His message was simply, both repeated word for word and scrawled in Andonian on a length of paper.

To the Commander of the Icedonian Forces trespassing in the Imperium of Man,
Know that we have received your second messenger, and his message. To your threats, I answer only this - a generation of the rivers of Icedonia running red if your master chooses to let the cup of war be drained by her innocents. We are men of war, and such is our choice and allotment. If you choose to butcher women and children in your war, an action I am loathe to reconcile with any ‘virtue’, be warned that my master is not of so gentle a temperament as I. Icedonia has a dozen settlements, a hundred villages that stand undefended in the south, unwarded save by the promises of your lord. If you drench your hands in the blood of the sons of Klothis, their lives will be forfeit. A message I have already dispatched to my master, bidding him loose the dogs of destruction which he holds kenneled against just such lands - even if you triumph here, you will return home to nothing save corpses and ash. Unless, that is, you return any captives taken of the civilian populace of Klothis, unspoiled and unharmed, to Nevis by noon tomorrow. Then I shall stay my hand. The choice is yours - war between soldiers, or bloodshed without end.
I remain,
Commander Monroe of the First Riding

[G-Tech Corporation]

A Summation in Blood

The weeks that followed were a difficult time for the people of the Four Kindreds, the Imperial soldiers, the Icedonian expeditionary force, and most of all Commander Monroe. The campaign that unfolded was not the one that his outriders had anticipated after shipping out from Altamonte - but it was not, in a strange twist of fate, one for which they were unprepared. The Icedonian force distributions were unlike any deployed by the large polities of Europe, but not dissimilar to those the brigands in the warm marches of the Carpathians favored. Monroe was outnumbered, but that had always been the case in his campaigns. Casualties mounted slowly, but the volunteers of the Kindreds were unwavering despite their high chance of not coming back from patrols; it was clear to many that the bloodthirsty Icedonians of the south, a society built on the back of violence, were not willing to leave any quarter as the campaign dragged on.

And that was just as well. After the summary slaughter of fully a third of the traveling kindred of Klothis at their winter bivouac despite the attempts of Egmund son of Harlan to negotiate for their release, the conflict was crystal clear in its savagery. A cold frostbitten wasteland of endless trees was not an exemplary place for any man to do battle conclusively, but that did not stop the Imperial outriders from harassing the three large knots of Icedonian warriors, nor the Icedonians from doing their level best to pursue and destroy their persistent shadows. If any bards ever sang songs of the northern war, they would do best to focus away from the reality of those furtive engagements, of tired warriors tossing themselves flat in gray drifts of snow to avoid whizzing crossbow bolts beneath the twilight sun, of fur-clad hunters with the light of battle in their eyes struggling against snarling southermen as scarlet drenches white powder and intermittent storms bury the very bodies of the fallen in ignoble graves.

After nearly a month of intermittent conflict, the war, for war it was, was at an end. Monroe was tired, his eyes bleary above dark-rimmed sunken cheeks, a sleep debt of command to be paid when he was dead, when the final reports came in from his outriders. The Icedonians were, at long last, withdrawing south. Nearly his entire command was out of action or dead on a field somewhere in the trackless forests that only the locals knew well, and the count of the unmarked graves of the fur-clad Icedonian conscripts could only be guessed at - but they were spent, hungry, tired, and ground down by a thousand skirmishes to a strength that their commanders must have thought insufficient to assault the fortified encampments of the remaining men of the Kindreds or Nevis herself. The missive that he read blank eyed staring out over the gray landscape detailed the enemy’s withdrawal to a supply camp in the west, and their final boarding of barges headed south after discovering the burnt out husk of what had been an outpost - one of the many reasons their rations had run short and they had been forced to withdraw.

Truth be told, it could not have come a moment too soon; neither had the news of Admiral Plethwin’s forces massing for a naval strike up this ‘Aerbaker’ river to menace the Icedonian’s southern settlements. Without the threat of a broader conflict, and the stalwart fortifications - as incomplete as they were - around Nevis, the First Riding had been pushed to the breaking point. Another week would have done it, shown how paper thin his patrols were, and how the skirmishes that had bled the Icedonians white had done their own number on his warriors. Maneuver warfare, upon which both the enemy seemed to rely alongside his own men, had been hampered to a crawl by persistent snowstorms, making either advance or withdrawal a quagmire for individual elements and communication nearly impossible to build a coherent strategy. Luckily the veterans of the decade Connor had spent in the field were competent men and had proven themselves capable. Capable enough, at least, for this trial.

Whatever the Icedonian leader was - a man out of time as Monroe suspected, like his master in Mara - he was no fool. The Virtuous Land had no quit in its belly, no room for accommodation, no stomach for retreat and concession. But even it had to acknowledge the futility, ultimately, of spending so many lives to slaughter tribes of no name or particularly notability, even as the missives from Mara became increasingly concerned with the casualties being spent on such a far-flung outpost of the Imperium. Rather than risk a true conflict and the depredations of the White Fleet against her southern settlements, as January turned into February, a negotiator from the Service arrived at Nevis. His terms were, at first flush, incompatible with Monroe’s mission in the region; but his latitude to reach a peace accord and a hasty request for an emissary from Altamonte eventually led, over many nights of acrimonious haggling, to an accord which left the poor people of the Kindreds in peace.

It was with a heart both heavy and elated that Monroe boarded the pale-masted warship, one of the last of his soldiers to take to the flotilla that had been sent to move his command back to the Continent. A condition of the Icedonian withdrawal from the region - that the Imperial force at Nevis be pared down to a ghost of her former strength, a token garrison to see that she abided by the terms of the new treaty with the humble people of the snow-shrouded isle’s eastern coast. The salutes from the local levies and the few dozens in clean Imperial hauberks, glints of mail coming from under their cloaks, Captain Veridian at their fore, brought unshed tears to the eyes of the man out of time - a son of the north and the south, but nowhere in particular. You did not fight alongside men, spill blood by the gallons to keep their children sleeping safe, without developing the bond of warriors in arms. And leaving them behind rankled in a manner Monroe had rarely felt before. The Virtuous People, the Icedonians, were supposed to hold honor in near sacred regard, but that nagging doubt that he had tamped down time and again still bubbled at times to the surface. At times like now. They were alone now, with but a tyrant’s word to trust in for their survival. Even the word from Mara was of mixed character - thrice the Hegemon himself had written directly, once to extol, once to praise, once to caution. It was the delicate dance of governance, of a thousand priorities writ large on the history of the world.

There was one consolation though, something that Monroe took with bitter bemusement as the gangplank was raised. The strange man that stood beside him, the Icedonian emissary to Mara - that was at least a hope of a guarantee that the Icedonian dictator meant what he said when he promised to leave the innocents of the Kindreds in peace. That or the master of the Virtuous People was perfectly happy to leave one of his sworn men out to dry to butcher a blot on his dream of absolute rule, a prospect which left the former Army man imperfectly satisfied. Time would tell, of course. But as Monroe down the Haven, making for the ocean sea past burnt out sections of forest, grounded anti-shipping barriers, and intermittent cairns, he couldn’t help but feel that his time in Britain had not been all it could be.

---

Steady hands were held at the back, blue robes draping over his shoulders and stopping at the mid-calf. The accant displayed eerie repose as he looked out over the morning sea - watching as the sun sank below the horizon, the ocean’s surface lighting up in a brilliance of color. The lashing wind upon open waters was something terribly chill - but never minded by this hardy servant of the Virtuous People. Though perhaps undeterminable by the savages which surrounded him, His spirits were high - piqued by curiosity and the journey which lay ahead for him. No servant had ever travelled so far he was about to, and never to a land more mysterious and vilified. He would be the first, a man whom the Sevrant trusted more than any other.

He had told them his name was, Breaga - neither bothering to declare his clanship, nor being pressed to answer. In fact, he’d not been asked much of anything at all since being taken into the imp’s company. The most social interaction he had received, beyond the vehmenant stares and muted curses of those warrior’s still burning from their battles against his countrymen, was the very deliberate avoidance of him by the rest of the retreating company. Few knew any words of Andonian, beyond their curious commander, and no doubt they had nothing of import to say to him. That was fine by this diplomat though - for he had already learned all that he could from this particular class of savage.

Breaga, had accompanied the West Army during their campaign - observing and noting their progress as they combated the invaders. Little mercy had been given during those times; were once the land had had five clans - today there remained only four, whose own numbers had been bled to near death. A place devoid of men, worked by broken women and orphaned children. By the time that the North, West, and East Armies had left on their march homeward - themselves battered and weary from the incredulous imps and their fodder allies - they’d very nearly exterminated the entire region as a result of the catastrophic conflict. On more than one occasion, he’d led in the interrogation of those captured imperials - probing them on a variety of topics ranging from the situation among their command structure, to their relationship with the undead god of the missionaries. From the answers he’d received, the truth pieced together from the invariable lies, he’d determined a semblance of the savage’s existence, the land they called home, and the man who ruled over it.

The Imperium of Man, Impdonia in Andonian. A land, far to the east, were a hegemon, sent by the undead god, ruled with steel and fire along a great river. They were a warring people ( at least those descended from the heartland of a place called Mara ), not unlike his own - having only a few years prior defeated the Commonwealth in a short lived war. The forces that had been deployed upon his homeland were said to be the most elite fighters which the Hegemon Viktor had to offer - though there were supposedly thousands more inferior warriors. He would see for himself. He’d chosen to board with the invaders, to observe where the men had come from - and to witness first hand the supposedly divine hegemon who’d sent them upon his land.

He’d watched the sun fall fully below the horizon, the darkness of night washing over the last vestige of Dusk’s orange descent. Braega had neither moved nor shifted in his position, his mind wholly dedicated to the anticipation of the moment that he would arrive into the heart of Impdonia, and to see for himself the progenitor of these savages - no doubt the worst enemy which the Virtuous People had faced yet. Looking up toward the moon, having begun it’s cresting arc across the sky, the accant was struck by a thought of poetic beauty. The story of the young hero, descending into witch’s den - it had been told to him many years ago. he was making his own descent into the heart of darkness now. The great hero had gone down to slay the witch, Braega merely wished to observe him. Both hero’s though went forth, with blazing hearts and righteous iron.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
January 5, 2 DC

Bandits have been ravaging the tribe every night as Susan wasn't aware of the situation. Finally, two of them were captured by soldiers and she has to talk to them about their behavior.

"Why are you stealing things from someone?" She asked. "We're not stealing," one of the bandits denied. "We're just trying to survive, that's all." They said. "Trying to survive, huh," Susan nodded in disbelief. "Don't be a fool!" She yelled. "I am telling the truth, your majesty!" One of them cried. "What makes you think that I can trust you?" Susan asked. "Please, I have a family to take care of!" One of them said. "A family?" She asked curiously. "I have two children, a wife, and my p-" His words were interrupted by Susan. "I heard it enough." She said. "Please don't kill us, your majesty!" One of them cried. "I'll tell you what, if you promise not to steal from someone then I will give you food since I am feeling sorry for you," Susan smiles. "Are you okay with that?" She asked. "Please, just let us go!" They agreed. The soldiers have released the two bandits as they quickly grabbed the food and leave.

The citizens are starting to expect that the queen may have a heart of gold but that doesn't mean that she doesn't take things lightly. The tribe is no longer plagued by bandits.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
February 1, 3 DC

Susan has founded the capital city of Dal Siti (달 시티) which translates to "Moon City" after the tribe is large enough to do so. This leads to a change of government where it is no longer a tribe but a queendom as it is headed by a queen that is, Susan.

But there is one problem, the country doesn't have a governor that will govern the country this large. So far, the capital city has 100,000 people living there.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
August 10, 4 DC

Susan has issued a law that allows the administration to govern villages since the country is too large for a queen to govern it.

Villages were formed as the governors are responsible for the administration of the state.

As a result, Susan is no longer stressed about controlling the country this large to the point where she has to deal with minor things such as taxes and famines. The law is still in effect.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
June 9, 6 DC

Susan has appointed three military officers that will aid her in her progress to unify Korea and to bring peace to the region again.

The problem is that they are not skilled with a strategy which means that the military campaign might go terribly wrong.

She shrugged it off as she cares more about expanding her influence across Korea rather than canceling it.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
December 1, 7 DC

The time has come to continue with the military campaign with an aim to unify Korea no matter how strong they are.

More than 30,000 troops are being recruited and three military officers have been assembled. The two military officers are going to the north while the other one is going to the south.

The military campaign would last approximately three to five years but it could be longer.

The fate and luck of the military campaign are yet to be determined.

[Speyland]

Susan Park
April 20, 8 DC

Seven years have passed as Susan has noticed that something is not right about herself. It appears that she hadn't aged a bit since she ended up in Korea without a trace of how she got there.

She went to the nearby pond where she looked at her reflection to take a better look at her face. "Why am I not aging?" She asked herself. "Am I immortal?" She asked herself again as she touched her face to prove that she is not insane.

It is a matter of time that it is impossible for her to get sick nor she won't age at all. The reason for this is uncertain.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 4, Chapter 15: The Accounting of Flesh and Iron

November 17th, 20 AG

The doors that opened off of the street were iron barred and guarded by two men in the slate-gray uniforms of the Imperial Army - but the pale white edifice that they warded stood as a stark contrast to conventional military design, her windows high and airy and with open shutters, and the sounds of talking and laughter from within belied her nature as an brutalist barracks or any equivalent structure. One of my minders extracted a set of documents from his breast pocket and conferred with one of the attendants for a few moments, then the dour northern man nodded and rapped on the heavyset oaken panels. A slit opened in the door, invisible eyes no doubt confirming the identity of the guard and noting our party, and then with the creaking of bolts being drawn back the portal to the sprawling building was opened by sturdy hands.

Of course, the mere nature of my guards should have theoretically been enough to allow me passage into the medical ward here in Norenberg. There were few men in the entire Imperium who were attended by the coal-midnight cloaks of the Blackguards, and fewer still who would have been here in the northern marches, several days of sailing beyond the straits at Lakis. Not to mention it was hardly my first visit to the White Rooms, graven out of limestone and shale from the nearby mines of Gran Taal. But the forms had to be obeyed; and where things like formality could be observed to ensure the security of such matters as wounded soldiers in recovery, such formalities were of not inconsequential importance.

Plus it wouldn't be good if just anyone were to wander through the wards. Like any hospital of note in the Imperium, medical science remained in her infancy, pushed forward as much by sheer dogged determination and scraps of knowledge than any cohesive guiding hand I could provide. Sulfa, sanitation, and surgery were our main weapons in the fight against ten thousand conditions and diseases, and they were poor weapons at best for many ailments - not to mention the fact that sulfa's utility was cripplingly limited by the minute amounts being produced in Mara and distributed throughout the Imperium's core. As such, hospitals could be and often were still places of unfortunate horror, pain, and death, things that it would disturb the layman to see. And the last thing we needed for the populace's general health was a distrust of the medical system at this juncture.

They did far more good than harm. But the harm they did could be unfortunate indeed to the uninitiated.

Through the doorway we passed, and as I entered a man in the long white coat and tightly sewn trousers of the his office hurried over, clasping a clipboard to his chest. He nodded politely at my company, a sure signifier of his status as a civilian instead of one of the military corpsmen who were ubiquitous throughout Norenberg's wards, and spoke in a high reedy voice.

"Hegemon. We appreciate your visits, as always. The men are anxious for this demonstration, and I have yet to tell them that you are to depart."

I shook my head.

"I'm afraid I must. Though my time here has been good for both soul and mind, and put me at ease about much, there are a hundred concerns that march in tandem with those of your charges. The Norsemen are stirring. I must bend my attention thence, or be neglectful of my duties to those others who look for my advice and aid."

The doctor inclined his head again, though I could tell he did not entirely agree with my decision. The men and women who had given the wholeness of their bodies for the defense of the Kindreds of Britannia, to his mind, were of first importance to the Hegemon - and he should acknowledge their sacrifice as much as possible. I did not disagree. But none, not even Tanya, understood precisely how many matters required my direct attention to move in their proper courses, and I felt with every inexorable year the slow weight of time settling about my shoulders. It was a race, a race of dire consequence, between myself and the Grim Reaper, to put as much as a I could in motion ere my inevitable demise so as to bend this world away from her hellbound course of nature. A course which was not aided by the meddling of the others of my own time, who seemed almost to a man bent on destruction and anarchy as if they were bomb-throwing terrorists dispatched to this frame of chronology only to oppose my efforts for its salvation.

The Northmen slaved and pillaged and squabbled, and their little queen butchered innocents as happily as she penned inane laws. Dismantling the corded strain of democracy which she had entangled tens of thousands within would be Gordian in its difficulty. Across the Channel, the Britons had shown themselves even more inclined to wanton slaughter than the Norse, and their master was far more inclined away from passivity to span his brand of genocidal authoritarianism across any land where Icedonian boots could reach. Containing them would be even more difficult than holding Norse raiders away from civilized lands in France, and that was a task which would have been Herculean save for the efforts of the Hibernians. No, all was not dark - but it was a life of light encircled by gloom, Northmen and Southmen and many in between only too happy to snap like rats at the worried body of the Imperium.

So it was that I could spend but two weeks here, and I only wish I could have done more. There was much more that could have been done, as seemed to always be the case, for in my mind still persisted the knowledge of a thousand thousand lifetimes of the men of the Neolithic which surrounded me, and I could speak with the vision of millenia on any topic, even as I had done so here, though to myself the knowledge seemed but paltry and incomplete. Nonetheless these tiny insights could mean an incalculable difference to dozens, to hundreds, for every lesson that seemed axiomatic to me oftentimes sprang as if from the wings of Hermes to the ears of those under my employ or that of the state.

Through the long corridors we walked, at first passing medical offices and record rooms, then emerging into the central courtyard where a few dozen souls were at work with a barking instructor. His tones were softer than those of a drill sergeant, perhaps because of those he addressed, but the complicated exercises he put them through no less rigorous. Surgery and recovery were a delicate dance of pushing the sufferer to rebuild themselves, to not give up hope, without breaking them again with overambitious direction. I watched the forms with interest, never having arrived at this particular part of the day, and concluded having a great deal of respect for the mental fortitude of those who stood upon the soft earth of the courtyard. None of the stretches and exercises they were led through were matters I could have accomplished easily, and you could tell that many were still in pain as they worked, but no man or woman quit or dropped out of their languid flowing motions all the same.

When they concluded, the doctor and I stepped forward, and soon happy voices greeted our arrival. I nodded and smiled at many, asking them how their recoveries were progressing, though within I could feel the small child in me crying. It was part of the public persona I had to project, fearless and undaunted by the cost of my decisions, even as I gazed upon soldiers who moved on stiff lock-joint legs replaced lost limbs, and greeted face to face men who had half of their faces replaced by thin porcelain masks secured with ephemeral threads of black twine. A consequence of the skill of the corpsmen, in truth, that many had lived here where their predecessors would have died - of sterilization and cauterization, and sanitation most of all, that so many dozens of the Outriders under Monroe's command had returned across the North Sea to be treated instead of in coffins.

I had done what I could, what I was able to do. My grasp of this facet of medical science had never been great, but the systems of hooks and bands that drove clasp-arms and lock-joint legs into rolling motion were, at least, a step up from peg-legs and stiff fake arms which would do nothing except hide the deformity of their wearer. Perhaps, in time, the polymers from the Academy might be able to be integrated into such devices over cold and unyielding wood, leather, and tusk-ivory, but I could not say how soon that would be. A hundred tasks neglected, unfinished, which only I could do - and yet I was but one man. And I quailed at the sight of those who my decisions had ruined, who would go through life gazed at by children for their differences, and struggle in normal jobs. Far better, in its own way, to hear only of the dead, and see only the graves. Then you could regret with immediacy, the sharp cut, instead this dull aching pain and the reminder of what the cost had been.

There were also curiously garbed men in the crowd who hung back from the other patients, who spoke in lower tones and who I had to seek out to speak with. Their brogues were thick, and often too accented to be easily understandable in Common - but their eyes lit up when I addressed them in their native Andonian, and some had almost worshipful expressions on their faces once we finished speaking. Their numbers were few, fewer indeed now that the last men had been repatriated to Icedonia, but I found more hope even in their faces than I had thought upon entering this hospital. A dozen or so, they had chosen, requested even, to be allowed to stay in the Imperium when the choice was offered to them to return to their homeland. Universally young men without families, draftees pulled from less loyal tribes subjugated by the men from Israel, the distance from their supposed overlord had emboldened them, and I wished them the very best. We must be doing something right, I reflected, if men who had fought against the very concept of my rule could be convinced that the Imperium was the way forward, that prosperity and good living could be had here.

I'm sure the Eyes would be busy here, once the Icedonians began settling down, but that wasn't my direct concern. They already had more to do in Germania than in perhaps the rest of the lands of Europe combined, with the motley assortment of immigrants from Hibernia, the Commonwealth, and a thousand other polities that thronged the streets of Norenberg and her sister cities of the central German plains. I would not have envied a man trying to keep tabs on Icedonian infiltrators, but if anyone was up to the task upon this blasted earth, the Eyes would be the ones for the job.

Even as I shook a few more hands and was invited to lunch, the deep brass bell of the church across the lane sounded the noon hour, and I respectfully declined, retiring toward the shadowed halls of the hospital once more. There was a ship waiting at the docks to take me north, and many others beside. Norenberg, at least, was a place of healing. Other places further north? Well, they would no doubt be making their own contributions to the hospitals here, before long. With that leaden thought on my heart I trudged back through the white corridors of the building, out into the bustling streets of a land that did not know the cost of war.

---

The boards of the runner underneath Corin's feet creaked as he shifted his weight, and he cursed internally. On either side the muffled oarlocks moved nearly soundlessly, the rowers moving like aged men in their caution to make no sound in the gloom of the warship's lower deck. It was remarkably effective - the Saltspite glided forward like a pale ghost, and really the noise that the captain could make out seemed to come more from the ships off to the gunboat's right than any source aboard the craft out of Carrock. Ruddy northerners. But their hearts were in the right place, and for that he could respect them, even if he did wish that they could be more damned quiet.

A heartbeat. Ten. A whispered order, and the rowers picked up the pace, Corin's men standing in their places almost like statues graven of midnight stone, each man's eyes fixed on the ramp to the upper decks before him.

In the darkness and cloud ahead sudden a voice rang out, a challenge in sing-song Norse. A man at the bow of the Saltspite garbled back something that the captain could make out, then the soft thump of a bowstring pressed on Corin's ear even as the first voice began to speak - and it was suddenly cut off. The Mundial-born weaver's son gripped his mace close, and then in a few more strokes came the signal. A torch waved twice before the gangplank, and with sudden ferocity he dashed forward, light boots clattering up the hobnailed struts with speed.

Into the dim half-light of the waning moon he emerged, and in a moment he took stock of the situation mentally even as his body sped toward the boarding corvus which had been thrown down onto the dock below. A body sprawled on the end of the wharf with two black-fletched arrows in its chest, and away to the right a ship docked nearby was burning, three light longships of the Norsemen having come up there. Already the sound of metal on metal echoed from that direction, but the span of timbers and planks ahead was clear - clear save for the ship bearing a strange sigil that he recognized as the crest of the Swedes.

Down the corvus he clattered, his men behind him, and nobody fell - just like in practice. On the left side of the wharf other men in the sable greatcoats of the Imperial service swarmed forward, silent as shadows, and Corin moved toward the objective at speed. Up the slight incline lay Amidasia, the objective, and her stockades. In tight formation they passed, heavy crossbows and great shields abandoned for the bucklers and short cutting swords of auxilaries, and only once more was the silent host checked - a single guard near the barricade gaping in wonder at their men appearing out of the mist before he was silence forever by Corin's swift sword strokes.

The Norse town was not fortified. It had never needed to have been, not that the labor to erect battlements around such a settlement would have been worthwhile anyway in these times of relative peace. The dozen guards the interlopers swiftly slew in their barracks were little better than militiamen, and even professionals would have had no hope against such odds, woken from sleep without weapons or armor. It would have been a nearly flawless coup, save for the knots of Danes who were now approaching the town from the east, and who had fired the ships at dock there. Alarm bells gradually began to ring as some sleeper or another noticed the flames, and Corin's men worked quickly.

The stockade's door was broken with strokes of a small handheld ram of burnished steel, staved in by four men, the two dozen blinking sleepy prisoners inside hastily herded back toward the waiting boats. Crewmen cut the doughty ropes binding the two merchant vessels to their impound docks and raised the sails, the Imperials withdrawing at a speed almost greater than that which they had appeared. Two men had to be carried back to the ships, unlucky warriors who had taken injuries in the barracks scuffle, but it was scarce a half hour after the raiders appeared that one of the captains of the warship winded his horn and the ships pulled away from the quays.

The Norsemen would be slower returning to their vessels, if their discipline was anything like what was expected - but to Corin's surprise they were ready to sail almost immediately after the Imperial elements. A testament to their skill at raiding and experienced warriors, perhaps, expertise which now benefited his superior's efforts in an unexpected fashion. They had paused for only a few minutes to nail up their broadsheets and dispose of those guards which had opposed their efforts. With the captives aboard and the two merchantment now raising sails and staved back into the Gulf of Swedes, Corin slumped next to a barrel abovedecks, relief palpable on his face.

No hitches. At least nothing insurmountable. The raiding force departed, burning docks left behind, and an empty jail the only result of the tit-for-tat legalese that had been going on recently. Throughout Amadesia the next morning men and women pulled broadsheets in elegant handwritten Norse from documents nailed up in the central square and at the gates of the city:

"Resist Tyranny!
Beware the tyrant who would dictate your thoughts, for in her heart she dreams herself your master!
Roskilde taxes and takes and executes and entangles the Free Norse - cut off her tendrils!
No war! Norsemen are not slaves! Join the Concerned Citizens Committee in resisting the choking weeds of Roskilde
Join the Concerned Citizens Committee in opposing the Ragnar the Butcher's thirst for the blood of our sons.
The Commonwealth was conceived in liberty. Let it be free again! No taxes! No war! No slavery! No Committee dictating our thoughts!
Let all Norse live free!"